


Phantom Pains

by DeathknightQ



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 47,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21931138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathknightQ/pseuds/DeathknightQ
Summary: Zelenka is taken to be a Runner by the Wraith. Atlantis presumes him dead and McKay takes that harder than expected. Takes place between "Trio" and "Midway."
Relationships: Rodney McKay/Radek Zelenka
Comments: 15
Kudos: 42





	1. Day One, Atlantis Base

**Author's Note:**

> Some of Radek's encounters happen "off-screen" for the sake of not getting all Herman Melville. Betaed by Siggen. Radek's canon backstory (a family of at least three children in a tent in the dead of winter) makes no historical sense given the policies of the Czech Republic at the time, so this is my best workaround.

It was supposed to be such a simple mission. Stackhouse's recon of M8K-455 had turned up what they had thought to be the Ancient version of Area 51, but they couldn't get anything to respond to the ATA gene initialization. The natives had been willing to allow a scientist from Atlantis examine the facility. However, since the building was inside their version of Mount Sinai the natives had forbidden the wearing of pants, which they considered Wraith-like. McKay hadn't wanted to run around like a sheik of Arabia on some desert world for what was probably nothing more than a dead geothermal research facility. So he'd dispatched Zelenka, who had been more than overdue for another trip off-world in Rodney's opinion.  
  
The Wraith had culled the planet Radek's second day there. According to Stackhouse, Zelenka had insisted on hiding as many of the natives as could fit inside the trapped, cloaked Jumper to wait out the culling. According to Stackhouse, Zelenka had managed to get the last group of natives who could fit inside the Jumper's cloak running in the right direction only to be swept up into a culling beam himself.  
  
Sheppard was incredulous, because apparently keeping scientists from doing inherently stupid civilian things was a soldier's job. Rodney couldn't breathe. Iron bands were slowly constricting around his rib cage, pushing the air from his lungs as quickly as Rodney could pull it in. A tingling like a thousand thatcher-ants covered his skin. He couldn't hear Sheppard's scolding over the ocean, or maybe that was just his own raging pulse.  
  
He'd sent Radek to his death, a meaningless death that couldn't even yield the cold comfort of scientific advancement.  
  
He'd sent Radek to his death, and it was all Stackhouse's fault.  
  
" _You_ should have been the one pointing the natives toward the Jumper," Rodney bellowed over Sheppard and the roar of the blood, wasting his precious air, "because _you_ are dispensable, easily-replaced goon squad!"  
  
"McKay!" Sheppard snapped.  
  
Rodney didn't care if Sheppard's little minion's feelings were hurt. Stackhouse's feelings deserved to be hurt. Stackhouse deserved to be the one inside a Wraith dematerialzation device, a blip inside a buffer about to be just another meal.  
  
Radek wasn't just another meal. Rodney hoped, as petty as it was, that the Wraith who fed on him recognized that as he ate.  
  
Oh, God.  
  
Rodney pushed himself up and away from the table. There was another added weight, the knowledge that if Radek hadn't been fed on already he was wrapped in the warm, gooey support of a Wraith cocoon. There would be no Ronon with a hidden knife to cut Radek free. There would be no John Sheppard in an F-302. No anything but the excruciating death McKay had sent him to when he could have sent anyone else.  
  
Rodney left the briefing room heedless of Sheppard's offended chatter. He needed air. He needed to be alone. He needed to get to work finding a way to amplify the Daedalus's sensors to be able to read Zelenka's subdermal transmitter without having to get close enough for the Hive ship to be able to detect them, just on the one-in-a-million and probably false hope that Radek was inside a cocoon instead of a spent mummy ejected into space like so much garbage.  
  
Zelenka had to be in a cocoon. He had to be.  
~*~  
  
**Day Two, Unknown Planet**  
  
As chance would have it, Zelenka was neither a mummy nor an MRE.  
  
Radek's had known what was coming as soon as the Wraith had stopped feeding with a shocked expression. The interval of waiting that passed between when the Wraith had closed the cocoon and stalked away down the corridor and when the Wraith had returned with two drones had seemed almost eternal. Radek doubted it had been very long at all: terror came with its own time dilation field. The same Wraith had injected Zelenka with something that had left him unable to move, and then handed him over to a pair of drones. Zelenka had been taken to another room, stripped, and thrown face-down on an operating table. The paralytic had done little to numb the pain.  
  
Radek had seen no point in enduring in silence once the paralytic had worn off. He highly doubted the Wraith had understood nor cared to understand his profanity.  
  
Then he had been taken from the table, all stitched up with a foreign object that felt as big as a baseball lodged where his neck gave way to spine. The hive's human servants had given him a bath, a meal, and dressed him in Wraith clothes. If his future hadn't been so terrifying, the sight of himself clad in black leather pants, a stiff black shirt, and a long black leather jacket would have been laughable. He was Radek Zelenka, not Ronon Dex.  
  
That was a problem.  
  
The Wraith had dropped him on the hot sands of Tahli, dialed this temperate forest world, and then shoved him unceremoniously through the wormhole. Apparently the Wraith hated the desert enough not to want to hunt a Runner there but were too impatient to begin their sport to wait to jump to a more suitable planet. Or perhaps trapping Ronon on Sateda hadn't been normal procedure at all. No matter what their motivations, the Wraith were leaving the wormhole open. Zelenka had at most thirty-eight minutes before a pack of Wraith came to kill him and he was alone on a forest world without even so much as his watch.  
  
_One moment,_ he promised himself. _One moment to panic and despair, then I'll get to work._ Radek curled downwards next to the DHD, burying his head in his hands and whimpering. His chances of survival were so very slim. He was almost thirty centimeters shorter and twenty kilos lighter than Ronon. He wasn't a soldier. He was an engineer. He'd grown up in the woods, true, he knew how to feed and shelter himself. If it was just a matter of living, he could make it. However, the Wraith beacon lodged in his back made hiding impossible: the Wraith would always be able to find him. Fighting was inevitable and without a firearm or even a polearm to even the score some, so was death.  
  
Zelenka whimpered again. He was going to die whatever painful death awaited Runners who didn't run well enough.  
  
_All right, enough, moment over, Radek. You sound like McKay,_ Radek told himself sternly. He couldn't just roll over and die. He'd dreamed of a crystal city on the farthest-away star since he was a child. Now that he finally had it, he couldn't give it up. Not to the Wraith.  
  
Radek slowly breathed out, then gripped the rail of the DHD and pulled himself up. Atantis monitored the Runner-beacon frequency. Even if they didn't know if the new signal was a new Runner or Todd, they'd still come to investigate. Even if they didn't, all Radek had to do was deal with this pack of Wraith. Then he could gate to M7G-677. The EM field would neutralize the beacon, one of the kids could summon Dr. Keller from Atlantis, and Ronon could wait at the Gate to have his fun with whatever Wraith came to see why the signal had disappeared. The Wraith didn't have human curiosity: losing the signal and then the scouting party would be enough to convince them the planet was still bad news.  
  
One party of Wraith, maybe even one Wraith. Then he could go home.  
  
He had a coat, branches, moss, rocks, a DHD, and a Gate. He had his brain. He also had the fact the Wraith didn't know he was from Atlantis.  
  
Radek dropped back to the ground and pulled open the access panel. All the crystals inside were alight with power. He couldn't stop the wormhole by pulling out the control crystal without electrocuting himself. Pulling out the secondary crystals to weaken the signal would be easy if he had the proper gloves. Granted, if he pulled the control crystal he wouldn't be able to use the Gate, either, and it would only be a matter of time before the Wraith got to the planet by hyperdrive. At best, all he would buy was time.  
  
Unless...  
  
Radek scrambled across the small clearing. It didn't take him long to find sticks of the right size and heft. He buttoned his leather jacket closed, folding the lapels over to cover as much of the cloth shirt as he could. Then he knelt by the open control panel, pulled his sleeves down over his hands as far as he could, and framed one of the secondary crystals with his sticks. Pushing in on the sticks as hard as he could, Radek pulled. The crystal came free in a shower of sparks that burned his fingers and face. Another crystal, another shower of sparks, and the wormhole died as the receiving Gate told the sending Gate that there wasn't enough power to maintain the connection safely.  
  
Radek pulled the control crystal with something akin to triumph. The left side of his face and his fingers were spattered with small cooking oil-like burns, but the wormhole was closed. Zelenka poked his head under the DHD. He'd always theorized that the dialing mechanism could be hot-wired into a makeshift iris though he'd never before had an occasion to try it. He just hoped he could get the dialing mechanism put back the way it was after he was done, or that none of the crystals fried when five or six Wraith hit the iris.  
  
Climbing the Gate to get to the two chevrons he needed to cross-wire was considerably less fun than scaling ladders but better than falling head-first down a smelly ventilation shaft. His back was a mass of agony before he started and it was complaining at Rodney-like levels when he was done. This time Radek was taking the medical leave Keller would certainly demand he have when he got back to Atlantis.  
  
His re-wiring complete, Radek put the control crystal back. As anticipated, the Wraith immediately dialed the planet. To Radek's immense satisfaction, a purple sheen covered the event horizon.  
  
The hollow thud of the Wraith hitting the shield was the best sound Radek had heard in years. He leaned against the DHD as the wormhole closed, weak with relief. The Wraith on Tahli would have no way of knowing the hunter hadn't made it through. He was safe for a little while.  
  
Now he just had to put the dialing mechanism back and hope his utter inability to spell didn't extend to Gate addresses. A few hours with the Demons, another incision (this time with anesthetic!), and he'd be _home_. 


	2. Day Two, Atlantis Base

Desks weren't integral to the mission. They were heavy even when dismantled, they took up space that could be used for food or toiletries or weapons, and in the military's eyes two or three to a desk was more than enough space as long as it wasn't them. Everyone in the Lab but McKay shared a desk with at least one person. Zelenka was pleasant enough -- and away from his desk enough -- that he shared with two others. His desk-mates were forever stealing Radek's office supplies, food, and pens (everyone knew Radek always had the best pens) but there were two things of Zelenka's they always left untouched. Wedged between the monitor and the paper tray was a pair of binders, one slim and blue and the second medium-sized and green. The first was labeled "If I Don't Survive Pegasus," the second read "For My Replacement." Radek updated both as he felt it necessary.   
  
No one ever peeked inside them. It had always seemed like bad luck, like daring Pegasus to snatch him away as she'd taken so many others.  
  
McKay forbid anyone to look at them now, just in case the universe wasn't as randomized as Rodney thought it was. Sometimes McKay wondered. He wondered now, because surely even random chance would have allowed for the Daedalus to be in orbit instead of the Apollo. They'd already had this fight with Caldwell.  
  
"You're asking me to risk my entire ship on one man!" Ellis snapped.  
  
"The risk is minimal," Sheppard said, nasal and insistent. "Based on the Tahli casualty estimates and the hives' usual feeding schedule, the hive is going to stop at one of these eight planets. With McKay's modifications, we'll be able to pick up Zelenka's transmitter well outside their sensor range. Once we find the hive, we jump in, go in with a cloaked Jumper, and get out before the Wraith even know what hit them. The _Apollo_ can pick us up afterwards."   
  
"You think," Ellis said belligerently. "Assuming the hive ship sticks to the usual pattern -- which we have no reason to know it will -- and assuming the hive ship is even out of hyperspace at the same time we are. We're also assuming they aren't waiting for us to pull something like this. It isn't exactly outside the usual Sheppard procedure."  
  
McKay missed Caldwell. He missed Zelenka more, and the soft, accented patter of useless explanation that somehow convinced lesser minds to follow McKay's lead.  
  
"Look," Carter said overpatiently. "We're just asking for a rescue effort here, not a miracle. I wouldn't be even holding this meeting if I thought it didn't stand a chance. The hives aren't supply ships. They have a lot of mouths to feed and a limited pantry. They'll _have_ to stop at one of those planets or else do without--"  
  
"And we all know how keen the Wraith are on going hungry," Sheppard interjected.  
  
Carter continued, "an overlapping search grid will take care of scheduling problems."  
  
"We're still taking a big risk for one man."  
  
"You don't get it," McKay heard himself say. His voice sounded high and tinny. Sheppard was poised to make one of his grand "no man left behind" speeches, a useless monologue that would fall on deaf ears. Results were the only thing that mattered to Ellis. "Zelenka was dressed like a Tahli when he was taken. If the Wraith thought he was one, he's already been fed on by now. But if he hacked one of their cells or if they probed his mind they'll know he's not from Pegasus.   
  
"Zelenka is my... my backup, you could say," he continued as Ellis's posture changed from belligerence to concern. "He knows how to convert an intragalactic hyperdrive into an intergalactic one, he knows the location of Earth, _and_ he knows the SGC mainframe's structure."  
  
"I think the possible prevention of Dr. Zelenka's abilities falling into Wraith hands is well-worth the lessened risk," Carter said, her arms folded beneath her breasts.  
  
Ellis looked thoughtful. Rodney held his breath.  
  
"I agree," Ellis finally stated. Rodney breathed out as quietly as he could. "We'll be ready to leave in twenty minutes. Have your crew ready to make the needed adjustments to the sensors." Ellis and Carter left the briefing room, Sam hobbling along on crutches next to Ellis's steady tread. Rodney left the conference room, beelining for the labs.  
  
 _It'll be fine, Radek,_ Rodney thought. _We'll have you home in no time._


	3. Day Four, Unknown Planet

_"I" before "E" except after "C," or sounding like "A" as in "neighbor" or "weigh."_ It was a stupid rhyme retained from those first painful English lessons, before he'd realized that English spelling and grammar was more exceptions than rules.   
  
Before Radek had learned English, he'd had no trouble keeping languages straight in his head: German was Germanic, Czech was Slavic, and Russian was Slavic with its own alphabet. Then his supervisor at pražská energetika had decided that since Radek the fastest learner with the most patience, _he_ should be given the task of learning English to deal with the influx of anglophone customers. English was technically a Germanic tongue. Zelenka hadn't thought it would be a problem. Then he'd discovered that English had no actual classification: it drew from the Celtic, Italic, Slavic, Germanic, and Greek families equally. The polyphonous jumble had made all his languages suddenly relate and his spelling in any language had promptly went to shit.  
  
On the other hand, his fluency in English had been one of the deciding factors in his promotion to Prague 10 District Overseer. Radek doubted the Journal of Electronic Materials would have accepted a first-time paper from anything less. Even as a four-year D.O., Zelenka hadn't actually expected his paper on the possibilities of crystalline electrical conduction to be accepted. He'd only submitted the paper in the first place because his sister had blackmailed him. Zelenka had nearly had a heart attack when he'd recieved his acceptance letter. He'd had a second coronary near-miss trying to come with the money to pay the $110 page charge _in American dollars_ for a nine-page paper. Radek certainly hadn't been about to turn around and tell the JEM that he hadn't thought they'd come close to taking his virtually science-fiction research seriously and therefore hadn't actually planned on a way to pay for publication.  
  
McKay had (if his story was to be believed) only read the crystalline conduction paper to amuse himself during a bout of constipation. After finishing it he'd rushed from the men's room in his typically over-dramatic fashion to announce to Elizabeth that he _absolutely had to have_ the paper's author in Atlantis _no matter what._ Once McKay had convinced Elizabeth to have Zelenka recruited -- again, in typical McKay fashion -- Rodney had promptly forgotten all about the matter.  
  
McKay had (if his story was to be believed) assumed that the SGC official in charge of personnel placement -- because of course Rodney had been too busy with getting them to Atlantis in the first place to bother with such petty things -- would understand that someone who was capable of coming up with the rudimentary structure of Ancient power crystals on his own deserved to be one of the first-level assistants if not the head of engineering. When the Chief Engineer had turned out to be the well-respected and very well-published Dr. Kavanagh and his assistants all equally well-published SGC scientists, McKay had wondered how he'd missed that the paper's author was already part of the SGC.  
  
Rodney said he had begun to wonder if there hadn't been an oversight in personnel allotment when Zelenka -- not even in the top eight of Engineering -- had identified the trapped Puddlejumper's drive-pod pathways in the space of time Kavanagh and his team had only managed "close the bulkhead door." So McKay had kept Zelenka close by for the next several weeks. Shortly after the first encounter with the Genii had come to its disastrous conclusion, McKay had asked Radek point-blank if the paper on theoretical crystal power-conduction he'd read had been Zelenka's. Radek had only been half-way through the tale of how he'd had to beggar himself to publish it when McKay had made a humming noise and abruptly left the room.  
  
McKay had called a special briefing two days later for all of Engineering and all department heads. Radek had thought it odd when he'd walked in to find Kavanagh absent. The bulk of the briefing had been about technical problems and another explanation of the necessity of candle-lit living quarters and cold communal showers to conserve power. Sheppard had arrived before the briefing had concluded to pull McKay away to M5S-244. McKay had been almost out the door when he'd turned around and announced, "oh, I almost forgot. Dr. Nelenka--"  
  
"Zelenka," Radek had interrupted patiently before taking a sip of his then-cold tea.  
  
"Right, you," McKay had said, "is the new head of Engineering--"  
  
Radek had interrupted McKay again, this time by shooting Athosian tea out his nose.  
  
"Ew!" McKay had snapped. "Disgusting nasal ejections aside, you engineers report to him now."  
  
"But-- but Dr. Kavanagh," Radek had spluttered. Between the shock and the embarrassment he'd felt, not joy at his promotion, but the acute desire to crawl into an access tube to have a panic attack in peace.  
  
"Can have your old job. Look, you supervised a city power grid before you got here, right?"  
  
"Ah, yes," Radek had said blankly while his fellow engineers had stared at him. "I worked for pražská energetika for nine years before that--"  
  
"Do you think you can do something about the candles and the showers?" McKay had asked.  
  
"Um, yes, yes, a program of variable availability--" He's submitted such a program to Dr. Simpson and then to Dr. Kavanagh only to have it rejected.   
  
"Good. Do it."  
  
And then McKay had departed, leaving Zelenka alone in the room with twenty-four engineers who now worked for him and five department heads who were now his equals. McKay had also left him with an embittered subordinate who had never quite believed Radek's apologies because Radek had refused to allow Kavanagh to act as the de-facto department head behind McKay's back. Zelenka had never intended to steal Dr. Kavanagh's spot, but McKay had been (with the usual sickening regularity) correct. While Kavanagh had moved from University to University researching and teaching, Radek had been spending his time maintaining electrical and electronic components of metropolitan power distribution either as a technition or as a manager. The engineers and the city's populace liked him better than Kavanagh, too. So did McKay.  
  
Even if Zelenka couldn't spell.  
  
Radek wasn't on M7G-677. He wasn't even certain which planet he was on. The only logical explanation was that Zelenka had transposed two of the Gate symbols, though he didn't know which ones. He'd re-written the address he'd dialed on a piece of stripped bark with a crushed leaf that oozed iridescent sap. It had looked right, not that that meant much. Radek had only used the address once. Zelenka had tried dialing the written address again under the presumption he'd somehow damaged the dialing mechanism of the previous Gate. The Gate had hummed the disdainful-sounding hum it made when you tried dialing your own Gate.  
  
Zelenka had scribbled a list of possibilities on his bark, switching signs around to form new addresses. He had recognized two of them as space Gates harvested for the Carter-McKay bridge, so he'd crossed them off his list. The rest... Radek had crossed off all the addresses that had struck him as blatantly wrong. It still left him with a long list.   
  
The Wraith would certainly know by now that the first hunting party had been killed. They'd be out for blood now instead of mere sport, which was terrifying. Radek needed to get to M7G-677. Failing that, he needed to survive long enough for Rodney to come for him. Radek needed a plan. The Wraith would not be gating in this time. As an engineer, Zelenka had no means to implement any plan he might make.  
  
Before becoming an engineer, Radek had been an R&D specialist: a soldier, though not the kind that killed directly. Before the military, he'd been a student and a farmer. And before his life as a farmer's son -- before his surname had been "Zelenka" -- he'd been poor and hungry, a rail-thin child who had fallen through the cracks of Communist idealogy and surveillance. The gutter had a skill-set all its own, no matter how Zelenka preferred to deny and ignore it as an adult.  
  
Radek was a good scientist, a decent shot, but he was an even better thief.  
  
Radek had hollowed out a cavern in the roots of a tall tree to sleep in when he'd first arrived. Now he wove a net of leaves and weeds to use as cover. He knew from Ronon that the Runner-beacon was like the tagging of pigeons. The beacon would tell the Wraith his general position, but not with any sense of height. The Wraith wouldn't know he was there until it was too late. By then Zelenka would have a weapon capable of subduing even a Wraith.   
  
He heard the dart flying by even though the trees hid it from view. Zelenka climbed into his burrow and pulled the net over himself. He forced his breathing to slow, drawing breath and exhaling in time with the fluttering of leaves on his net. He slowly relaxed the tense muscles around his spine. Fear was dissonant and obvious. The eye only perceived what did not belong. Radek relaxed his muscles further, working his way outward from his spine to his fingertips. He curled his energy -- what he learned as an adult other cultures called chi -- outward to interweave with tree and soil. _I belong here, and because I belong, the eye will slide right over me._ Slowly Radek felt his fear dissipate into the stillness of the waiting cat, the remembered quiet of a nearly-starved mendicant child with siblings to feed.  
  
He could do this, mostly because he didn't have any choice.  
  
The birds startled from the left. If Zelenka was surrounded, he would have heard the fluttering beat of wings from all quarters. The Wraith was also alone, because only one pair of heavy boots disturbed the leaves and soil. This Wraith, Zelenka knew, had only ever eaten his meals out of a cocoon. A hunter would not hold himself so separate from his environment. Radek could only see glimpses of the Wraith through his peep-hole, but the alien's presence was so dissonant to the woods that Zelenka did not need to see. The Wraith was scanning the forest only at eye-level as he approached Radek's tree. He did not look above or below.  
  
A hunter would have known better to assume the previous Wraith had died due to a Gate malfunction. A predator knew a predator when he saw one.   
  
Radek gathered his energy inward, no longer the waiting cat but the pouncing one. He slowly reached an arm up through his viewing hole as soon as the Wraith's back was turned. He moved with the breeze, rustling the leaves of his net as the wind rustled the leaves of the tree. The Wraith paid him no mind. Zelenka closed his fingertips around the butt of the Wraith's stunner while the Wraith consulted his beacon-locater. Radek felt his pulse jump, but he didn't waver.  
  
Zelenka eased the stunner free. The Wraith did not notice, just as those who had lost wallets to the urchin Radek had once been had never noticed. Zelenka's pulse jumped again, this time in exaltation instead of terror.  
  
Radek held the stunner a few inches from the Wraith's spine and fired. The statuesque alien spasmed and fell. Zelenka stunned him again before crawling free from his hiding place. He knew from the birds that there were no other Wraith, but he scanned the tree-tops and forest floor anyway. The birds hadn't informed him incorrectly. There were no other Wraith. Zelenka closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. The Wraith lay sprawled face-down on the ground, helpless and no longer a threat.   
  
_It's a Wraith._ That was what Ronon would say if he were there. Rodney would say that if the Wraith went back to the Hive with the knowledge Radek could pick pockets, none of the other Wraith would allow him to get close. Rodney would also say that letting a Wraith live would practically announce "not Pegasi." Not Pegasi meant Lantean, and Lantean meant Radek stop being a Runner and start being a POW. As slim as his chance of survival was as a Runner, his chance of rescue was high. As a captive on a hive ship his chances of either were virtually non-existent. Colonel Ellis would never risk his ship to rescue just one scientist.  
  
He didn't know what the Wraith did for torture to those immune to the feeding process, but he knew enough about what humans did to each other that he didn't want to find out.  
  
"I'm sorry," Radek apologized softly, because it was dishonorable and cowardly to end the life of someone who could not fight back. "You should have just left me alone." Then he picked up the largest branch he could and brought it down on the Wraith's skull with all his might, over and over again. Black blood spattered across his pants and jacket accompanied by the sickening crunch of bone. When Radek stopped, the Wraith's body dead-ended into a gray-black mass not even a Wraith could heal. Zelenka noted with an surreal calmness that he'd smashed the beacon-locater on the Wraith's wrist. The branch's bark had abraded Radek's palms. They hurt like the beacon embedded in his flesh.   
  
He'd bludgeoned an unconscious Wraith to death without mercy. The same results, but different than shooting someone who shot at him or destroying an elegantly terrifying vessel. Instead of victory he felt only hollowness. Teyla said it was their mercy that made them different from the Wraith. If that was true, then he was a step closer to the Wraith than he'd been before killing a defenseless sentient. The Wraith didn't look so monstrous with his head bashed in.  
  
One of the plants on the planet collected water in its gourd-like flowers. Radek swished his mouth out with one plant's water, then spat. He drank the water store of the other four flowers nearby. He didn't look at the Wraith's corpse on his way to the Gate. He could smell it, sickly sweet and coppery.   
  
Radek dialed the next address on his list. The Wraith never showed any mercy, any remorse for the human lives they took. They never showed regret for the biological necessity that drove them to kill. He had to remember that because Ronon was as correct as Teyla: in a fight hesitation could kill you. It was war. Zelenka was entitled to fight back.


	4. Day Six, Atlantis Base

Eight jumps, two hive ships, and no signal.

Radek was gone. Dr. Keller had signed the death certificate, Colonel Carter had recorded a stiffly formal and wholly inadequate notification for his family, and there was no casket to send home. One of the Irish marines had voiced the suggestion of a wake. Engineering had agreed that that was the sort of thing Zelenka would have wanted. Coleman and Lorne had organized it. They'd even managed to scrounge up some decent Canadian beer instead of the usual American piss.

Carter started the wake with a speech about how much Zelenka would be missed. Rodney tried not to hate her for it. She'd acted like three hours alone with Zelenka was worse than being trapped in a collapsing mine shaft. Granted, Rodney had been happy about it then. Now he'd give anything to have the three hours Radek had wasted on her. He'd take one of them, even fifteen minutes. Just enough to say goodbye.

Ronon followed Carter's speech by singing something beautiful in Satedan he called "The Invocation for the Dead." He said that it was a warrior's song, but he did not think the Elders would mind if it was sung for a scientist who had died saving those weaker than himself. Rodney hadn't known Ronon could sing anymore than he'd realized the two men were friends, though that did explain the camping trips and Ronon's habit of scolding Rodney for telling Zelenka to shut up. It also explained Ronon's painting. Ronon was insular enough he couldn't have known that Lorne had professional-grade art supplies, but the sociable chess-shark Zelenka would have. McKay wondered, distantly, if Ronon had sung for Radek before.

Lorne offered a toast to "the scrappiest little motherfucker" he'd ever met. The marines in attendance had drank almost as deeply to that toast as Rodney. There were more soldiers there than Rodney had expected. Stackhouse was there, too. Rodney didn't talk to him.

Sheppard didn't say anything at all. He just stood next to McKay in his tidy dress blues that were no more comfortable than the musty suit McKay wore. It was the same suit Rodney had worn to Carson's memorial.

Rodney ate because food had always been his comfort. He drank because the beer would make sure he could stay numb long enough for this thing to be over. Then he could go bury himself in astrometrics, the database, some Wraith tech, or maybe finding a way to track ships through hyperspace.

_"I know what you're trying to do... Lose yourself in work to avoid thinking about Elizabeth. You must realize it's only a temporary distraction."_

Oh, God. He wasn't going to make it. The fried cheese suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth and the fruit dumplings were a hard lump in his stomach to match the lump in his throat. Radek wouldn't be there to tell him he was burying his head in the sand this time. Radek woudn't be there to talk to at four AM when the work wasn't making him forget anymore. Radek wouldn't magically appear with coffee, a power bar, and that maddeningly dependable calm in the morning. Radek wouldn't-- couldn't--

Rodney must have had more beer than he thought because the room was spinning, hot like Tahli, and he couldn't breathe. His throat was closing up and not in the citrus way.

He was going to have to face Radek's death without Radek's steady support. He'd ordered Zelenka to go, he'd called him a coward, and Zelenka had died proving him wrong.

"Hey, not here," Sheppard said, gripping his arm and pulling. "Come on."

McKay followed the pull of John's hand on his arm. Sheppard led him out of the wake and down into the hall. Someone had taken his plate, because when Sheppard pushed him down on a bench there was no food to spill. McKay bent over without prompting so his brain wasn't so far above his heart.

"I sent him," McKay confessed without expectation of absolution. There could be none, because the person he needed to apologize to was-- "I sent him," McKay repeated. "He didn't want to go and I made him. I told him not to be a baby, I went off-world all the time--"

"Hey," Sheppard repeated. "You couldn't have known the Wraith would show up. You really couldn't have known _Zelenka_ would try to pull some--"

"Yes, I should!" McKay insisted, anguished. He pushed himself up and away from Sheppard's hands on his head. "I should have known Radek would never let anyone be taken away."

Not even the memory-wipe of the Kiersan fever had been able to drive that from Radek. Not knowing who McKay was, not remembering that McKay was a friend, Radek had offered to keep Rodney hidden from the soldiers. He'd even gotten angry when Rodney had refused his protection. Rodney told John as much. He finished by repeating that he should have known Radek wouldn't be able to just hide in a cloaked Jumper while the Wraith did worse than the Soviet soldiers who'd doubtless been the ones to burn taking-away onto Radek's soul had ever dreamed.

"Still," Sheppard insisted after a moment's hesitation. "It was Zelenka's choice to leave the Jumper. He's the one who broke protocol--"

"Stackhouse let him!" McKay shouted. It was all Stackhouse's fault, except for the part where it was his. "And if I'd just gone myself none of this would have happened." He wasn't stupid enough to stand outside a cloaked Jumper with a bunch of Wraith running around. He would have found a safer, smarter way to do it. He would have listened to Stackhouse's insistence that it was too much risk for too little reward. He wasn't Teyla, he wasn't Ronon, he wasn't a goddamned bleeding-heart mother-hen--

He wasn't Pegasi. Radek had gone native right under his damn nose, or maybe he'd always been but in Pegasus he was normal instead of eccentric.

McKay pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. At least this way Radek wouldn't have to face permanent exile on Earth if the USAF really did pull out of Atlantis as it had in the alternate timeline. Radek had had a miserable time of his brief exile to Earth when the Ancients had returned, a harder time than anyone but Elizabeth. Elizabeth wasn't coming home, either.

_Oh, God. Oh, oh, God. Oh **God**_. Radek was never coming home.

McKay fled down the corridor, John's startled remonstrance dogging his heels.  
~*~

**Day Seven, Atlantis Base**

Rodney had a hangover from the wake. His head hurt, light hurt, and he couldn't quite keep breakfast down.

If he'd had a choice he would have left the binders for last. The idea of going through Radek's things in half-lit quarters was less painful than facing whatever Radek would have to say in case he died. Rodney didn't want to read any beyond-the-grave confessions. However, as Miko had pointed out, Radek had probably left a will. There was no point in going through Radek's belongings only to have to go back and redistribute them according to his last wishes, especially since Sam wanted to ship everything back to his family on Earth.

It wasn't Sam's fault, of course. She was too new to understand. During the first year of the expedition they'd been cut off from Earth entirely. There had been no way to send a deceased's belongings back to Earth even if they could have spared the matériel. So after each death the deceased's quarters had been left open for people to take what they wanted. McKay distinctly remembered the feeling of desperately wishing for contact with Earth, not for reinforcements or even to go home, but so that he could have something new without having to take it from the dead.

The military carried on the intra-Atlantis redistribution, each wave of greenies learning it from the seasoned soldiers already there. The military understood the importance of tradition. The new scientists, on the other hand, had regarded the redistribution with a morbid horror. They'd protested about "vultures circling" and "disrespect for the dead" until those who had first stepped through the Stargate -- those who had through suffering learned to cultivate the military's inherent understanding of death and remembrance -- had let the matter drop. Sam was technically a Colonel, but she was a scientist at heart. She didn't understand that Radek would have wanted anyone who desired an object to remember him by to have one. She couldn't realize that much of what they had was on loan from those who had died before.

With any luck, as much was written in the slim blue binder. Without luck, no one would disbelieve him if he told them it was. The other first-wavers would understand.

McKay took a deep breath, staring at the two binders. This couldn't be any more painful than opening the case to Zelenka's tablet and finding an epi-pen tucked inside, nestled between the tablet and the stiff black cloth. Radek was never without his tablet and he didn't have any allergies. Rodney did.

_Atlantis didn't have holidays, but it did have parties. It had small gatherings among friends to celebrate birthdays, the occasional wedding performed by Weir or Sheppard, and then the joyous city-wide We Didn't Die celebrations. As soon as the last invading Wraith corpse had been disposed of and the last memorial service for those lost in the seige had been performed, Atlantis had hosted the biggest We Didn't Die celebration yet. The Athosians had provided the meat, the chemists had provided a decent beer, the marines had built roasting-fires on the west pier, Sheppard's team had come back from Thanaria with as much produce as they could carry, and the crew of the Daedalus had coughed up every last ounce of junk food stashed away in the Mess or in their quarters. Potato chips had never tasted so good._

_Rodney had been regaling a pretty blonde from the Daedalus with the tale of how he'd bravely faced down two Wraith drones on his own to get the ZPM to the ZPM room when Zelenka's voice had cut through the din._

_"Rodney, stop!"_

_McKay had frozen on the spot, a glass of chemist beer half-way to his lips. This was, after all, still Pegasus even if he was at a party._

_"You've got the wrong beer." Radek had been shouting from the balcony overlooking the pier. The newly-arrived Major Lorne had been with him._

_McKay had looked down at the glass he'd picked up from the makeshift table to see a piece of a Thanarian fruit that looked like a grapefruit but tasted like lime. Rodney had felt himself go ashen as he'd hurriedly returned the strange glass to the table._

He'd always thought how lucky it was Radek had happened to notice the deadly pink interloper. After finding the epi-pen that Radek carried with him... McKay kept an epi-pen and a dose of hospital-strength antihistamines in his tac vest. So did Teyla and John. It was a necessary precaution when they went off-world and not only for McKay. Allergic reactions could happen to anyone given the right trigger. Atlantis, though, was essentially safe yet Radek kept an epi-pen with him always.

Radek hadn't been on that balcony just to talk to the Major. He'd been keeping an eye on McKay. Radek had probably had either an epi-pen or a dose of antihistamines in his pocket.

McKay opened Zelenka's top-most desk drawer. The packet of pink antihistamine pills was there between the erasers and the post-its.

Rodney pressed a hand to his mouth as his vision blurred. He was painfully aware that the entire lab was watching him while pretending not to.

_Mother-hen,_ McKay thought to himself. He took a deep breath and closed the drawer. _You knew he was a mother-hen already._ Zelenka was always the one urging caution or safety. He had a compulsion about feeding things, too, that McKay had never hesitated to take advantage of. Radek always had a stash of power bars in his desk he never locked up, he was usually the one sending a lackey or cajoling a Mess attendant into bringing starving scientists food, and the running joke was that the fastest way to find avian life on an alien world was to let Zelenka loose for ten minutes.

Radek made the best coffee.

His throat was closing up again. Goddamn it.

"Get out of here," McKay ordered the scientists. He was ashamed of how raw his voice was. "Go, go get some coffee, or something." The scientists obediently scattered. McKay wished the lab had a door so he could lock it. When the last scientist had departed, McKay picked up the blue binder. He hands were trembling. Damn it.

Inside the binder was a plastic page sleeve filled with sealed envelopes labeled in Radek's variegated-caps handwriting. McKay pulled them free. There was an envelope for each of his siblings, one for Ronon, one for McKay, and one labeled "Will & Testement." McKay smiled sadly. Handwritten meant no spell-check. The man had such atrocious spelling.

Had had. He had had such atrocious spelling. God. He was never going to get through this if he kept having to stop to breathe.

McKay slit open the last envelope. The will was handwritten.

"I, Radek Zelenka, bieng of sound jugdment and as sound of mind as anyone else on Atlantis do bequeeth my belongings thus:" it read. There was a list of items and names, followed by an equally succint, "everything else is to be Redestributed to whoever wants. A first-wave sceintist or a merine will know what to do. My Earthside affiars have alredy been seen to in advanse." Radek had signed the bottom of the document. Carson Beckett had been one of his witnesses. Two of the people on his list of recipients were already dead. One of the items on the list was a collection of physics textbooks left to his unnamed replacement. McKay imagined Radek had purchased them when he'd signed on to the SGC, then mowed through a master's-worth of information during the six months of mission-prep. He would have finished the doctorate-level collection during his first year on Atlantis. It was a Zelenka thing to do.

Rodney tucked the unopened envelopes into the pocket of his lab coat. Then he reached for the green binder. It was nearly full of type-written pages. Some of it was printed on regular copy paper, most was a thin papyrus-like material made by the Manarians. The sections were separated by labeled dividers: "Atlantis: Electrical," "Atlantis: Electronic," "Theoretical," "Wraith Tech," "Replicators/Nanites," "Mistakes to Learn From," "Management," "Satedan Tech," "Misc. Tips," and the last section was labeled simply, "Rodney."

McKay flipped to the last section. The header read, "this is the most important aspect of your job, because if McKay isn't happy no one is happy -- he makes sure of it." It was in bold font.

The next paragraph was in regular type. It read, "the first, most important thing about Rodney McKay is to understand he doesn't speak English. Yes, yes, I know it sounds like English, but it is not. Translating out of the Common Rodney, smoothing over the feathers of those who do not speak the Common Rodney, and diverting McKay-explosions will take up much of your time. It is not fair, but it is necessary. If you do not believe, ask any of the scientists who worked with McKay in Siberia how much easier he is to work with with me around doing what I will tell you to do here."

Rodney wanted to be outraged. If he'd read this while Radek was alive, he would have been. Now he just had an aching spot in his chest.

The first instruction was the coding for a program that would automatically send all McKay's email that didn't come from exempted addresses straight to Radek's replacement's inbox. Apparently the Atlantis staff had never grasped that going over the Chief Engineer's head to get to McKay was a bad plan. It was easier, Radek had written, and prevented much conflict to just deny them the option. There was a list of criteria emails fell into and instructions for what to do with each type of mail: "Reports/Proposals Worth McKay's Time," "Reports/Proposals Not Worth McKay's Time," "Reports/Proposals Not Worth Your Time" (which were to be forwarded to McKay because whoever wrote them deserved what Rodney would dish out), "Head of Sciences Admin You Can Do" (including performance reviews; Radek had even listed tips on making certain Carter didn't catch on like Weir had), "HoS Admin You Can Do but Need to Tell McKay About," and "HoS Admin McKay Has to Do" (which included an injunction to leave the nagging to Carter), and lastly, "Pointless Bitching." Pointless bitching, Rodney noted with amusement, operated on a three-strikes policy. The offending party received two reasonable explanations. The third complaint was to be forwarded to McKay.

Rodney had always suspected Radek had been using him as a sort of attack-dog. Zelenka loved to banter, but he hated actual confrontation unless he was plenty pissed. Rodney was never not ready for a fight.

The warm amusement vanished into a bitter feeling. Zelenka had loved to banter. Past tense. He had to remember that.

The next section was called "Phrase-book." Radek's eyes had always seemed to look through instead of at, especially when he was concentrating on someone. He'd certainly always seen right through Rodney's bluster and sarcasm. He'd left those insights for his replacement, including some painfully-close guesses as to why Rodney was the way he was. The end of the section was a note that Radek didn't include his theories to provide gossip-fodder but to help his replacement handle a difficult personality with grace.

The final section were tips on smoothing feathers ruffled unnecessarily by Rodney's mouth. The section ended with a command not to allow Rodney to treat the reader like a secretary. "Rolling over will only get you steamrolled, not respected -- stand up to him if he is wrong and whatever you do, no matter how vicious he becomes, never ever allow him to see he has made you cry."

Zelenka had always been the most durable member of Rodney's staff. He'd never seen Radek tear up or even rush from the room. The ability to speak his mind freely without worrying about the possibility of hurting Radek had been one of the things he'd liked best about Zelenka. Yet here, in black and white spell-checked text, was the implication that Zelenka hadn't been immune to McKay at all. Rodney had made Radek cry, maybe even more than once. He'd just never known about it.

"Thanks, Radek," Rodney muttered. "The crushing mass of guilt over ordering you to your death needed a little bolstering."

_Yes, well, is your own damn fault for reading what wasn't meant for you._ That's what Radek would say. He wouldn't even flinch. He never flinched. Well, he never flinched unless Rodney blew something up or fired something off without warning. Rodney felt a smug smile curl his lips. Scaring a year's life out of Zelenka never got old.

There was no more life to scare out of Radek. The smile evaporated. He would never know when and how he'd hurt Radek badly enough to break his calm.

Rodney angrily shoved the green binder not meant for him back into its spot. He had letters to deliver, things to sort through and distribute, then he could rig Zelenka's door open and leave. He could go back to work, do his job, and get the Hell over this. Then he wouldn't have to remind himself Zelenka was _dead_ , past tense, and gone every time he turned around.


	5. Day Eight, Trash-N-Treasure

Including the trip on the Daedalus and shaking off a hive ship, it had taken Sheppard's team two days to rescue Ronon from his second tenure as a Runner. Each time Todd had set up a subspace beacon Sheppard's team had been there within eight hours or less. Zelenka had been running for eight days now, which was six days too many.  
  
Either Atlantis was unable or it was unwilling to come to his rescue. Unable meant Atlantis was in too much trouble to spare the men to investigate the new beacon, or else the beacon was operating on the wrong frequency. Radek didn't want to think about how much trouble his city would have to be in for Colonel Sheppard to pass up a possible summons from Todd. He liked to think that the solution to his rescue was only a matter of getting the M7G-677 address right or else hotwiring a beacon-locater. If he could jam the wrong-frequency signal, he could just Gate to any planet with a GDO and then go home.  
  
He refused to even contemplate unwilling. Colonel Carter might deem rescuing a strange Runner or meeting with Todd not worth the risk, she might even be able to convince Colonel Sheppard of the same, but she would never be able to convince Ronon to ignore the possibility of another Runner. Even if Sheppard did order Ronon to stand down, Radek was certain Rodney would then make one of his bounding leaps of logic to conclude the Runner could possibly be Radek. Rodney would then bitch, moan, and carry on until Sheppard gave him his way like he always did and then, see, they would have come for Radek.  
  
Unless, of course, Rodney did not feel Radek's loss. Radek had no illusions as to how far down the list of Rodney's affections he was. Jeannie was first, of course, as was proper. Colonel Sheppard was second. Sheppard was followed by the great Colonel Carter McKay carried such a torch for even though she did nothing but reject and look down on him. Teyla and Ronon were Team, so of course they occupied spots three and four. Kaleb was the husband of his sister and Madison was his niece. That left Radek in seventh place at most.  
  
Seventh place at most was a miserable place to be. Seventh left him bitterly jealous of Carter even as he secretly craved her approval to bolster himself in Rodney's estimations, not that that had worked. All praise from McKay's idol had done was leave Rodney jealous of him. A two-fold suffering that had been, unable to stop his own bitchiness (as Dr. Weunche had called it) while simultaneously being on the receiving end of McKay's petty diatribes. The not-so-cold war had culminated in Rodney gloatingly accusing Radek of coveting McKay's admiration for Carter in front of the entire Lab. Then he'd crooned in the most mocking and insincere way possible that Radek would always be Rodney's favorite, he was just so damn cute when he was jealous, and "now, be a dear and bring me some of that delicious coffee you make."   
  
Radek had retaliated by upending the entire pot of steaming hot coffee in Rodney's lap.   
  
Rodney had screeched in not-entirely hypochondriac agony that he'd never be able to reproduce. Radek had told him that that was the best idea he'd had in months. Then he'd stormed out of the Lab in a humiliated fury.  
  
Fortunately for Radek, Sheppard had thought Zelenka was cracking up from overwork. He'd checked the logs and found Radek hadn't had more than twenty-four hours off since the Expedition had first arrived in Atlantis besides sick days and trips outside the city for tests (fun, but work in Sheppard's eyes). Sheppard had reported it to Carter with the addendum that even the hardworking Central European constitution had its limits. Carter had authorized a forced two-week vacation Earthside. Ronon had been voluntarily assigned as Radek's protection against any possible Trust interference.  
  
Radek had went on vacation intending to spend a week with his family and a week dragging Ronon all over Europe to combat Sheppard's Americanized indoctrination. Ronon had went on vacation intending to talk Radek out of the false hope he'd ever be more to McKay than a particularly close colleague. All three goals had been achieved.   
  
Radek scooped a handful of dirt from the ground. He poured it from hand to hand as he watched the two plump creatures he'd killed for dinner roast over his campfire.  
  
Leaving someone who could easily be saved to the Wraith was just not done in Pegasus. Especially not when you had a perfectly good cloaked Jumper that couldn't leave anyway. Radek leaned forward to rest his head on folded arms. It had seemed such an obvious choice. The Wraith culling beams did not work through Ancient hulls. Since the Jumper could not fly away with the Gate dialed in from the hive ship, why not get as many civilians inside as they possibly could? They could not save everyone, no, Stackhouse had been correct, but standing room only in a Jumper was no small number.  
  
He hadn't expected that last Tahli man to shove him into the culling beam in an attempt to save himself. Human nature. Radek's own damn fault.  
  
Stupidity, not heroism, that is what Rodney would say when he got back to Atlantis. Colonel Carter or Sheppard, of course, would have thought of a better way -- that, too, Rodney would say. He was just lucky they had sent the lesser Wraith after him, the Wraith equivalent to Kavanagh, Rodney would say. If they had sent the Ronon-Wraith, Radek would have been chlorinated right out of the gene pool like he deserved.  
  
Most of the time Radek didn't think Rodney meant the contemptuous bile he spouted. Sometimes, though, he wondered how much of the derision was bluster. Radek was saying cutting things to himself now in any case. When he called himself "Dr. Fumbles McStupid" Radek would have no choice but to transfer back to Earth. He couldn't let the fact his affections were requited only with sarcasm and the most synergistic working relationship he'd ever experienced to completely destroy his self-respect.  
  
Eight days. Six days too long. They weren't coming, either because they could not or because they would not. Until he got hold of a jammer or arrived on M7G-677, Zelenka was facing a protracted engagement. He needed to alter his strategy accordingly.  
  
Teyla and Ronon had said when a planet in Pegasus became too populous or the inhabitants faced an unreachable cultural schism, the society splintered outward to an uninhabited or long-dead world. The new arrivals often cleared out the remnants of the previous inhabitants and dumped them on various junkyard planets. M88-644 was such a disposal planet. Most of those in Pegasus didn't recognize Ancient technology other than the Stargates as valuable. Thus Trash-n-Treasure, as Major Lorne had named the planet, had turned out to be a trove of spare parts. It had also turned up a completely-drained ZPM, several highly-advanced artifacts from the culture that had originally inhabited the planet before being wiped out by the Wraith, and a host of artifacts from other extinct peoples. Zelenka had been to Trash-n-Treasure dozens of times and assigned teams there dozens of times more.   
  
He'd been picking through the leavings for three days. He'd found tubers similar to potatoes, plump Pekingese-like creatures for eating, and a tree with fibrous roots that braided into a decent rope. He'd also found several knives with broken points but sharp blades, enough canvas to make a pair of furoshiki, an honest to god cast-iron pan someone had accidentally left behind, and a fire-starter than had only needed an infusion of pitch to function.   
  
Radek had never thought he'd ever be digging through trash again.  
  
He'd washed out his pan with sand from the creek. It was now functioning as a basin. Radek dumped some of the water over his hands and wiped them off with another square of canvas. It wasn't sanitary but it was better than nothing. He'd taken a cold bath in the creek. His hair was still a greasy hank and he smelled, but he felt better. Radek scratched at his chin. He'd forgotten how much growing a beard itched. He wasn't brave enough to try shaving with a knife.   
  
Zelenka pulled the makeshift spit from its supports. The not-Pekingese were as tasty as they were loud. He stripped off the carcass enough meat for his meal and sliced the rest thin. He hung the strips back up on the spit to smoke.   
  
Radek hated eating with his fingers like a caveman. He wondered if Ronon had hated it too, when he'd first started running. He certainly made a point of it now.   
  
When Zelenka finished his meal he washed his hands again with water and canvas. He drank the rest of the water then dried the pan with one of his furoshiki.  
  
Radek continued searching through the piles of garbage until the sun began to set. In the dull blue of twilight he pushed a particularly heavy sheet of metal up and aside to discover dried flowers, jewelry, and glyphs sketched in the dirt artfully surrounding a polearm. The shaft was dark brown wood capped by a blade at least a twenty centimeters in length. The curving metal had been protected from the elements by the memorial's hiding place.  
  
Zelenka picked up the weapon. The glaive was heavier and longer than the staff Ronon had made him practice with until his arms burned. The added weight and length would increase both the range and force of his strikes, which would help to make up for his lack of finesse. The diminished stamina wouldn't matter. The Wraith healing abilities left an opponent with no choice but to end things as quickly as possible.  
  
Radek looked down at the glyphs and offerings. The glaive wasn't unwanted waste. He offered a silent apology to whoever had made the shrine as he set the glaive aside and returned the cover to its place. Zelenka didn't mean to desecrate the dead, but he _needed_ the glaive in case the stunner fell through. He was too small for knife-fighting or fisticuffs and he had neither Teyla's strength nor her skill with short-range rods. Radek doubted the dead disapproved of his pilfering. He certainly wouldn't if he was in their place.  
  
If he was wrong, it wasn't like a hex could make things much worse. It had been sheer luck that the Wraith had mistaken his sabotage for a malfunction. There was no way to misconstrue a bashed-in skull. This time there could be no doubt the Wraith would have vengeance in mind.  
  
Radek poked his fire as darkness set. He could see the smoking pieces of meat in the warm yellow light. If the Wraith traveled at top speed they'd be in his general area tomorrow or the day after. He would have to leave in the morning.  
  
It was silly to wish to stay. It was doubtful he'd find anything more of value and it wasn't like a crevasse in a garbage heap was much of a shelter. Perhaps it was just his usual disinclination to travel. Radek had never been much of a nomad. He had stayed in the Czech Republic even though he'd had ample opportunity to smuggle himself out. He'd stayed in Prague long after the military service that had stationed him there had ended. He'd even stayed in his ratty tenement hall after Ganya had died. He told himself it was because he'd inherited the loft and flock, but finding another place for his racing birds would not have been hard.  
  
Radek liked to be home. He wanted to be home right now, with the sound of the ocean lulling him to sleep until McKay's oscillating patter interrupted. He wanted the familiar halls, spires, and people. He wanted it like a widowed pigeon craved the nestling she'd been taken from.  
  
Zelenka couldn't go home without leading the Wraith to Atlantis. He couldn't stay here without being run to ground. He was homeless again, and just like the first time he had no say in the matter. Atlantis might even be burning down as he sat there.  
  
No. Radek curled his hand around the shaft of his new weapon. It was just the transmitter frequency. He'd get his hands on a locater, he'd hot-wire a jammer from it, and he would go home. He was in the same cluster as M7G-677 and all the space Gates there had already been taken away to make up the intergalactic bridge. It was only a matter of simple elimination.  
  
He'd be home soon. Rodney might even be glad to see him.


	6. Day Nine, Atlantis Base

Radek had three Assistant Engineers, one to head each shift. Each assistant was backed by a shift supervisor that aided the assistant and took over in case the assistant engineer was out of commission or off-duty. The rest of the engineering crew existed of a rank. Pecking order among them was determined by a combination of experience and strength of will. McKay approved of Zelenka's system: an autocracy of talent was the best management system to have. It let the cream rise to the top and get the work done while reserving menial tasks for lesser intellects.  
  
The problem was the three Assistants. With three seconds, Radek had left no clear successor. McKay had to choose. He didn't even know where to begin. He'd always left Radek's department alone unless he needed the manpower. He knew the individual engineers even less than he knew his own people.  
  
He never should have left the personnel reviews to Radek all this time. Only having one review to complete -- Radek's -- wasn't worth this. Rodney didn't want to pick Zelenka's replacement. Radek couldn't be replaced by anyone but Sam, not that Sam would ever be as accommodating as Radek had been. No one else on the base would, either. Unless, of course, he made it part of the job description.  
  
Rodney didn't want to do that. He just wanted Zelenka back so things could go back the way they had been. He wasn't going to get what he wanted.  
  
Carter had been clear that McKay didn't have to choose right way, but that he couldn't leave the position open forever. Rodney figured that he could stall at least a week. That would give him enough time to read Radek's performance reviews and pick the top five people Radek had praised most. Then he could just describe the new duties of the Chief Engineer and pick the person who protested least. If he was feeling generous he would then take the pressure off by telling the replacement that McKay didn't really expect Zelenka's level of brilliance from him or her, he just needed someone to do the paperwork.  
  
Yeah, he could do this. Later. Later, when his throat stopped closing up every time he saw Radek's pens in other people's hands. He'd have to do it before he stopped losing it every time he tried to play himself on Radek's prized, hand-carved antique chess board. Rodney didn't have that kind of time. Sam was right: they needed a Chief Engineer before the next galaxy-threatening crisis.  
  
Rodney could at least let the metaphorical body cool. A week of avoiding the problem out of respect, a three-day cram session, and an interview. Presto: one half-assed replacement who couldn't possibly hope to do Radek's job on a good day. Rodney wasn't thinking about what facing the next galaxy-ending crisis would be like without Radek's steadiness, except he was, because that was his job. He didn't like what he was seeing. He'd still save the day, of course, he didn't _need_ Radek. The emotional trauma, collateral damage, and McKay's own recovery was worse in every projection.  
  
McKay twisted around from staring at the useless stream of equations on the white board to look at his laptop when his email dinged. He'd lifted Zelenka's forwarding-program when he'd deleted Zelenka's email account. Rodney hadn't had a moment's peace since. McKay hadn't realized just how stupid his subordinates were until he'd had to deal with them unfiltered and raw.  
  
The email was from Earth via the check-in: pckavanagh@secure.sgc.us.gov. The subject header was simply, "Application."  
  
"This had better be a virus," Rodney growled. He double-clicked on the message.  
  
 _Dr. McKay:  
  
With Dr. Zelenka's passing the post of Chief Engineer is now open. Despite your and Weir's preference for an obliging sycophant over a more aggressive personality, I must remind you that I was originally selected for the post by the SGC. My qualifications are more than adequate--_  
  
McKay stopped reading. A .pdf labeled "resume" was attached.  
  
The fury bloomed sudden and hot in his chest. Radek had only been declared dead for two days and Kavanagh was already clamoring for the post McKay had given to the better-deserving scientist. He had the gall to tell McKay, McKay who had been trapped in the stuck jumper and McKay who knew Kavanagh had fainted from fear, that the post was his by right because Zelenka had only earned it by ass-kissing.  
  
Rodney doubted Radek had ever kissed ass in his life. Zelenka humored and handled, yes, but what Rodney had missed most during his brief exile to Area 51 had been the way Zelenka both challenged him to prove every inch of his brilliance (like Sam) while simultaneously never losing faith that McKay would be able to prove it or make it happen (not like Sam). Radek was a delightful spitfire underneath all the courtesy and caution, the soft place to fall who liked him despite his flaws, and the power behind his throne.  
  
Rodney didn't need Radek, he reminded himself. He didn't need anyone. That didn't mean Kavanagh wasn't a deluded egomaniac if he thought for an instant he could fill Zelenka's shoes. It didn't mean Kavanagh wasn't an ungrateful bastard for not showing more respect for the death of a man who had saved Kavanagh's life twice over.  
  
McKay tapped his headset before he'd even thought it through.  
  
"You dial Earth and patch me through to wherever Peter Kavanagh is, and you do it now."  
  
Chuck didn't argue.  
  
"Now listen here," McKay shouted as soon as Kavanagh's face appeared on the video conference screen. "You just listen, you little punk, because I'm only going to say this once. Filing an application for Radek's job two days after he was declared is tactless, petty, and completely disrespectful. It's trashy, Kavanagh, and even--"  
  
Kavanagh started talking, meaningless words about the necessity of haste and the need to accept the reality of death without over emotionalizing. Rodney just turned up his own volume and kept shouting.  
  
"--even if you hadn't just shown everyone in this room what a selfish, ungrateful narcissist you are, I still wouldn't give you the job because--"  
  
"Because you know I won't suck up to your little cult of personality," Kavanagh interjected, "I'm not a nobody too wowed by your name to think for myself--"  
  
"ZELENKA ISN'T NOBODY!" Rodney bellowed. "If you were twice the scientist you are, and if Zelenka was half the scientist he is, he would still be _ten times_ the scientist you are and I didn't fire you because you had less experience. I fired your ass because hiring you in the first place was a mistake I will _not_ be repeating. So you just take your application and--"  
  
Kavanagh terminated the connection. The scientists in the lab were silent and staring. Rodney left like the Hive was on his heels.   
  
Rodney hated Radek Zelenka. He hated him more than anyone: more than the Wraith, more than the bullies in High School, more than Rod, and more than Sheppard and that pitying look he was forever wearing on his face now. Would it have been so hard just to stay in the damn jumper and obey Stackhouse? How dare that ungrateful little Czech gutter-snipe run off and put McKay through all of this for a bunch of unevolved backwater peasants.


	7. Day Ten, Unknown Planet

Radek was using the addresses with differing beginning symbols first to maximize the distance between worlds. The Wraith had apparently interpreted this as a preference for running over fighting, because the three drones who had come through the Gate had stayed behind. Only the Wraith leader had given chase when Radek had fled headlong down the trail he'd carefully broken through the underbrush two days before.  
  
Radek couldn't run like this forever, he wasn't Ronon or even Parrish, but he didn't have to. He'd already tested the course three times. He had one snare laid at "easily attainable: maximum exhaustion," another at "attainable with difficulty: medium exhaustion," and the third at "attainable: minimum exhaustion." He'd stashed his stunner at the beginning of the course in case he'd faced a longer run to get to the trail than anticipated. He'd hidden a suitable club at the last snare, his glaive at the second, and a suitable noose at the first. Even the Wraith had to breathe. Slipping a noose over a neck before binding it tightly to a tree didn't take much energy. Listening to the Wraith suffocate wasn't an experience Zelenka was looking forward to, but he looked forward to dying even less.  
  
Fortunately, it didn't look like it was going to come to that. He hadn't been that far from the trail when the dart had arrived. Radek could hear the Wraith snarling with exhilaration behind him.  
  
Just a little farther. His lungs were burning but his legs weren't. Radek lengthened his stride and sailed over the first snare. Radek dared a glance behind him. The Wraith jumped the same spot Zelenka had. _Do prdele._. He hadn't planned on this any more than he'd planned on guards at the Gate. He couldn't step in the snare without triggering it and this Wraith was smart enough to figure that anything Zelenka avoided was worth avoiding himself. Radek didn't have a weapon or a trap beyond the last snare. His stunner was far behind him. He needed a Plan E.  
  
Rodney was so much better at this.  
  
Zelenka slowed his pace a little, feigning exhaustion. The Wraith made a joyous sound. Radek could hear the Wraith's footfalls increase tempo. Radek held his pace, then slowed a bit again as they neared the second snare. The Wraith hissed. He was right behind Zelenka. _Here goes nothing._  
  
Radek dropped to the ground, his knees tucked under his belly and hands over his head. The Wraith's boots hit his ribs hard enough to wind him, the Wraith's knee crashed down right on his incision. Zelenka could feel himself trying to scream in agony but there was no air in his lungs. Spots danced around his vision as the snare snapped taught.  
  
When Radek rolled over, holding his ribs and trying desperately to breathe, the Wraith was trapped. He'd obviously landed on his shoulder because the snare had closed diagonally around his neck and shoulder. The Wraith's right hand was pinned by his armpit while the left arm hung free. The Wraith's stunner rifle was lying a few feet to the left.  
  
"You are troublesome," the Wraith growled in their oddly-echoing voice. The Wraith apparently had too much dignity to kick his feet uselessly. It was also possible he simply feared loosening the rope. If the snare slipped off his shoulder it would snap taught around his neck.  
  
"So I've been told," Radek gasped. He pushed himself to his feet. He cradled his ribs with one hand and dragged his glaive out of hiding with the other. His back hurt as much as it had the first day. Radek hoped he hadn't torn whatever sealant they'd used. "Look, I don't want to kill you. Just give me the beacon-locater. After I've made my escape and your drones wake up, see, they will let you down."  
  
The Wraith hissed.  
  
"Only an inexperienced pouchling would use a locater on the hunt itself. I prefer my prey... diverting." The Wraith smiled. "Though had we known you were Lantean, we would not have wasted you on sport."  
  
Zelenka must have paled, because the Wraith's smile grew.  
  
"The death of the first Chaser was no malfunction, was it? You are one of the Lantean engineers. You need not be so afraid. Our worshipers are rewarded as zealously as those who resist are punished."  
  
"You are not in the position to offer me employment," Zelenka said with all the bravado he could muster leaning on his pole arm for support.  
  
"You are not in a position to refuse it," the Wraith replied. "Once we are back in the Hive ship, I will see to it you see reason."  
  
He never should have offered a deal. How often had Sheppard and Weir -- and Carter -- been burned making bargains with the Wraith?  
  
"Teyla was right," Zelenka said. He couldn't swing sideways without risking cutting the Wraith loose if he missed. So instead Radek raised the glaive over his head and brought it down. The glaive's weight added more force than Radek had intended. The blade sliced the Wraith's skull down to his neck.  
  
It took Radek two attempts to free his weapon from the body. The glaive reeked of sickly sweet Wraith blood.  
  
Zelenka dropped his glaive, snatched up the rifle, and scaled the nearest climbable tree. The guards appeared a few minutes later. The rifle was a lot harder to aim than the hand-gun like stunner. Radek shot the first guard while aiming for the second one. He ducked behind the tree when the two remaining guards fired their weapons. Zelenka blindly fired off several more shots. He peeked around the tree and nearly got himself shot in the face.  
  
His heart pounding and fear jangling every nerve, Radek waited. He listened. The animal life had long since been scared away, but the forest debris was still there. He must have hit the second drone because only one was circling his tree. Radek eased himself slowly to the left just long enough to take aim. He fired three shots in quick succession. The first and second went wide, but the third connected. The last drone dropped to the ground. Zelenka stunned each drone one more time (at the cost of ten more shots) before he climbed down.  
  
He couldn't know how much the Wraith leader had told his drones telepathically, so he had no choice but to chop off the drones' heads. It was hard and messy work, worse than mucking out barns or threshing. Afterward he collected his supplies. He couldn't carry the rifle and the glaive at the same time, so he left the rifle behind. His aim was rubbish with it anyway. He hated the P90s and rifles even more than he hated handguns, but he'd have to force himself to practice with them when he got back to Atlantis. Radek also kept the lead Wraith's shirt, holster, and coat.  
  
Radek hot-wired an iris for the Gate. There was a creek nearby. He used it to wash himself, his clothing, and his weapon. He polished the glaive with canvas while he waited to dry. All of his clothes were still bloodstained even if they did not smell as much. He needed to get his hands on some soap.  
  
The rocks were as warm as the sunlight on his bare skin. It was comfortable, even though Radek had never been a nudist. Still, he was impatient for his clothes to dry. He wanted to be off this planet before the Wraith tested his iris. If the last Wraith had been smart enough to figure it out with one occurrence and an attempt at a deal, each new "malfunction" would only increase the chances of the Hive realizing their error.  
  
They'd never let him go once they did.  
  
Zelenka wanted to go home. He was tired of alone and afraid. At least on Atlantis there was always someone else around when the truly terrifying shit hit the fan, even if it was just Carter in a transport tube.  
  
Radek pulled his boots on his bare feet and walked over to a mossy patch of grass. He was alone, which meant no one else could see him. As long as he told no one he had cried himself to sleep, no one would know.  
  
Rodney always had the best ideas.


	8. Day Twelve, Earth

Fifteen minutes to Midway Station, twenty-four hours in quarantine, and fifteen minutes to Stargate Command. They picked up United States Passports for Ronon and Teyla, convinced Ronon to leave his knives at SGC, and drove to Denver. They had another stop outside the airport as Sheppard described the metal detectors and demanded Ronon cough up the knives he was still carrying. Ronon coughed up two. The third -- in his hair -- was caught by the metal detector.  
  
Rodney brought the entire security area to a standstill bellowing at Ronon for risking making them miss Zelenka's funeral by getting his primitive ass arrested. Lorne and Sheppard flashed their military IDs. Security concluded a dreadlocked man in the company two Air Force pilots, a woman, and a Canadian probably wasn't an Islamic terrorist and let them through.  
  
"You're not a typical Canadian," the security guard said.  
  
"Oh, and how many Canadians do you know?" Rodney snapped.  
  
The flight was long and boring. Rodney had brought work along on his laptop, but even astrophysics and paperwork wasn't enough to distract him from the dread. After the funeral Zelenka's death would be more real, more irrevocable than before. The funeral also meant facing Radek's family and telling them he'd ordered their relative to his death. Rodney imagined it would be worse than telling Carson's family he'd caused the accident. Rodney hoped the Zelenkas held a grudge. Carson's mother's forgiveness had been almost more than Rodney could bear.  
  
The only bright spot was dinner: lasagna, green beans with bacon, a roll, and three cookies (two sugar, one chocolate chip) instead of the lemon meringue pie everyone else got. Teyla apologized to the attendant for Rodney's vicious sarcasm by explaining they were on their way to the funeral of his partner of four years. The attendant slipped him a second portion of lasagna and an extra cookie when the supervisor wasn't looking. Rodney wasn't normally one for tipping, but for her he made an exception and slipped her an equally-surreptitious ten. People normally weren't that nice to him.  
  
It wasn't until the attendant fluffed his pillow and said she couldn't imagine what he was going through, she was so sorry, and just call her if anyone gave him a hard time that Rodney realized what kind of partner she thought Zelenka had been. Rodney didn't correct her: he liked the sympathy.   
  
After regular communication with Earth had been restored, Zelenka had told his family he was running the power distribution for a third-world rescue/relief effort. Zelenka had also told his family that the secrecy was necessary because if the other side got hold of any details about the base, no matter how trivial, they might be able to triangulate and destroy it. It was a good cover story. Most of the science department had appropriated it for themselves. When the flight attendant came to check on him, Rodney confessed that Radek had been killed getting civilians to safety using the third-world relief base as a backdrop. He didn't have to fake the roughness in his voice.  
  
"That's so sad," the attendant said. She put her hand over her mouth and there were tears in her eyes. Then she rushed away. When she passed by on the way to solve some sort of child-related altercation at the front of the plane, she dropped a bottle of the chocolate liqueur from first class in Rodney's lap.  
  
"You don't have any shame at all, do you?" Lorne said with disgust.  
  
"None whatsoever," Sheppard said. Sheppard had the window seat. Lorne had the aisle seat in front of Rodney and Ronon was in the middle in front of Teyla.   
  
"I was not aware the death of a colleague was taken so seriously on--" Teyla began.  
  
"In the United States. You mean," Sheppard interrupted for the benefit of the woman sitting in the window seat next to Teyla.   
  
"Yes, _in_ the United States. Forgive me," Teyla said with her ever-patient smile.  
  
"It's not," Lorne said. He turned in his seat to glare at Rodney, as if Rodney cared. He had chocolate liqueur and the attendant liked him. She thought he was gay so her blonde hair and bright blue eyes were unattainable, but she still liked him. "The flight attendant thinks Zelenka was his lover for five years, not his second in command."  
  
"Rodney," Teyla said sternly.  
  
"Let it go," Sheppard said. He was flipping through some sort of magazine. "They were practically married anyway."  
  
"No," Ronon growled with an odd finality. "They weren't."  
  
"Close. Enough," Sheppard persisted in that nasal, almost-sarcastic tone he used when countermanding Rodney's trivialities. "Now let it go."  
  
Ronon grunted again. Teyla made a disapproving face that didn't bother McKay in the least. Rodney shared his liqueur with John. Part of him suspected that had been John's plan from the beginning.  
  
They changed planes in London. Rodney slept for most of the second leg of the flight.   
  
John was the only one who spoke any Czech, so after they left Ruzyně International the team just followed John and did what he told them to.   
  
"All the Czech I know is what he said when he was fixing things," Lorne said when Teyla asked. They were waiting in the lobby while Sheppard checked them into the hotel. "'Ty vole.' 'Ježiši.' 'Do prdele.'" A matronly woman scowled at Lorne and jerked her grandchild closer. "Apparently that one's worse than he let on." Lorne smiled at the woman and raised an apologetic hand.  
  
Teyla had a room to herself. Ronon was sharing with Lorne and Rodney with Sheppard. He would rather have roomed alone, but he'd already spent over a grand in airfare. Sheppard had paid for Ronon and Teyla.   
  
McKay plugged in his laptop and went back to working. Sheppard respected his silence. He did invite Rodney to come along when he, Ronon, Teyla, and Lorne went out to see the city. Rodney refused. Hearing the lilting cadence of Czech speech interspersed with English was just making everything worse. He kept expecting to hear Zelenka's voice. As soon as Sheppard left Rodney closed down his laptop. He took a shower and a couple of Benadryl to knock him out, then crawled into bed.  
  
Sheppard woke him at ten. Rodney was groggy, though whether that was from the antihistamines or because it was almost 25:30 on Atlantis McKay couldn't tell. Another shower helped. Breakfast helped more (an omelet, no lemon, and some kind of pancake-thing) and by the time they found taxis that didn't charge an arm and a leg, Rodney was feeling like a human being again. Sheppard did all the talking to both drivers.  
  
The cabs drove by sidewalks crowded with tourists carrying digital cameras and souvenir bags, past art nouveau buildings and ornate churches, an odd rock song sung in a growl playing on the radio. The tourists gradually gave way to natives with prams and grocery bags. The cab pulled to a stop in front of what had to be a funeral home even if Rodney couldn't read the sign. Lorne and Ronon's cab pulled up shortly after Rodney, Sheppard, and Teyla got out of theirs.   
  
"You should have left the paying to Sheppard," Ronon said as he and Lorne exited the cab. "The driver pulled something." The driver pulled away from the curb, cutting off a yellow Mini to get into traffic.  
  
"And how could you know that?" Lorne said "Your Czech isn't any better than mine."  
  
"Don't worry about it," Sheppard said. "As long as you got a receipt we can hash it out with the cab company later." Lorne's face shifted to a guilty expression. "You did get a receipt."  
  
"Our cabbie didn't speak English," Lorne admitted. "But nothing happened. The rate on the meter matched the one on the door, I gave him four hundred, and he gave me the right change."  
  
"No, he didn't," Sheppard said, looking at the coins in Lorne's outstretched hand. "He gave you a 50 heller piece, not a fifty koruna." When Lorne looked blank, Sheppard elaborated. "Fifty cents, not fifty bucks. See the little h?"  
  
"Son of a bitch," Lorne said, looking down at the coins and back up in the direction the cabbie had driven.  
  
"Radek said you weren't a real world traveler until you've been scammed by a Prague taxi driver. Now I understand," Ronon graveled.  
  
There was a row of people dressed in black standing beside the open door: two men, a woman holding a toddler, two boys, and an old woman in a wheelchair. The taller man was speaking to a man in a rumpled suit, and on officious-looking man was giving the old woman a glass of water. A woman in neat, dark clothes and her child stopped to hug the woman holding the toddler. The visiting woman's child and one of the boys exchanged a greeting before the pair entered the funeral home with the man in the rumpled suit.  
  
"That's gotta be the family," Sheppard said. He took a deep breath. "Oh boy." The group followed Sheppard up to the row of people. Sheppard was in his dress blues, Rodney in the suit that was fast becoming his funeral suit. Ronon and Teyla were in black clothes purchased at the Chapel Hills Mall before their flight.  
  
"Dobrý den," Sheppard said to the taller man. The man had dark hair and eyes, a stern mouth and square jaw. The man next to him was small, like Radek, with the same sharp nose and wide cheekbones. The smaller man took in Sheppard's uniform and though is lips didn't curl, his hostile green gaze made his disdain clear. Rodney felt sick, his stomach churning with nerves. At least someone had the sense to be angry. The woman with the toddler had dark hair and eyes as well. The two boys had dark blond hair and light eyes, though not the same gray as Radek and the elderly woman in the wheelchair.  
  
"Jmenuji se John Sheppard," John said. He pointed to Rodney. Rodney held up a nervous hand. "Toto je, um, pan Rodney McKay." Sheppard pointed at Lorne, who smiled. "Toto je pan Evan Lorne." He pointed at Teyla, who smiled and offered a graceful half-bow. "Toto je paní Teyla Emmagan." Sheppard pointed lastly to Ronon, who waved. "Toto je pan Ronon Dex." He finished with a sentence Rodney assumed meant they had been Zelenka's friends. The taller man raised his eyebrows blankly. The woman with the baby and the woman in the wheelchair exchanged a puzzled look.  
  
Sheppard tried again, and when he continued to receive a blank reaction, he held his palms very close together and said something else.  
  
The eldest boy looked at Sheppard with the scorn unique to children. Rodney didn't have to speak Czech to know the boy was asking Sheppard about brain damage.  
  
"Petr," the tall man snapped. He gave the boy a command. Petr rolled his eyes and walked behind his father to enter the funeral home. He said something to Sheppard that prompted Sheppard to shove his hands in his pockets and drawl a nasal reply. The elderly woman looked back at the younger woman and asked a question. The younger woman shrugged as she replied.  
  
"It's kinda like watching Jackie Chan without the subtitles," Lorne said uncomfortably. "I don't know if I'm supposed to smile or not."  
  
"It is difficult," Teyla agreed. "Only the most remote provinces contain people who do not speak enough of the language given by the Ancestors to trade. Even if a world only uses Given with outsiders, it is still necessary."  
  
"You mean tribe, Teyla," Lorne said tightly. "World is for planets."  
  
"Of course," Teyla said fluidly. "My mistake." She shared a look with Ronon. "Your _country's_ isolation has given it some highly unusual codes of behavior."  
  
"The anthropologists on Sateda used to wonder what would happen to a 'country' without a Ring. This wasn't what they came up with," Ronon said, gesturing to the city around him.   
  
Petr emerged from the funeral home with a woman in a black dress. The woman's eyes were rimmed red and her light brown bangs were damp with the water she'd doubtlessly splashed on her face. She and the tall man conferred while the Lanteans stood by uncomfortably.  
  
"I'm Eliska Bednarova," the woman said shakily, holding out her hand to Sheppard. Her accent was thicker than Radek's but the family resemblance was there. She Radek's air of unassuming kindness as well. Rodney was almost as afraid of her as he was of the small, angry man on her right. "I'm Radek's sister. You are Colonel Sheppard, yes?"  
  
"Yeah," Sheppard said with a smile. "It's a tough language you've got. This is Dr. McKay, Major Lorne, Teyla Emmagan, and Ronon Dex. We worked with your brother on base. We're sorry for your loss."  
  
Eliska stopped to translate what Sheppard had said to her family. The smaller man glared at them with crossed arms, spoke angrily, and went inside. Eliska's pleasant expression wavered. The woman with the baby followed the smaller man inside, as did the younger of the two boys.  
  
"That was Mirek," Eliska said softly, her hands fluttering nervously. "He's my brother. The woman was his wife, Vlasta, and their two children, Radomir and Zofie. This, uh, this is our mother, Natalie Zelenkova," Eliska gestured to the woman in the chair then to the child who had asked Sheppard if he had brain damage, "my son Petr, and my husband Lukas."  
  
Sheppard said something in Czech that Rodney assumed amounted to "nice to meet you." The group stood in awkward silence, neither Lantean nor Czech knowing what to say next until Teyla stepped forward.  
  
"Ms. Bednarova. I do not know if your brother spoke of me," Teyla said gently. "But I am the leader of the people who the, uh, expedition personnel first made contact with."  
  
"Yes, he did." Eliska said. "I, um, I know that Radek was very fond of your culture."  
  
"He was very... acclimated to life in my... my country. Several years ago the base was besieged by the other side, as you call it. My people suffered losses defending the base with the expedition. Afterwards we held a memorial for our fallen. The memorials of our people involve song, and your brother offered to participate. To hear one of your people sing a song for lost colleagues for our dead in front of the others of the expedition who attended meant a great deal to my people. I would like to return the honor, if I may, and to sing one of our songs for him."  
  
"That sounds lovely," Eliska said, her voice thicker than before. "It's too late for the funeral home to allow it, but, ah, afterwards would be lovely. I can, um, I can give Colonel Sheppard our address after the ceremony and you can meet us there." Eliska sniffed and gestured futilely at the door. "We should get inside. Mr. Novak is very strict." She folded her ams tightly under her breasts.  
  
"Of course," Teyla said gratefully, reaching out to gently lay a hand on Eliska's shoulder before stepping inside the funeral home.  
  
Eliska said something in Czech to her family. Lukas gestured for the Lanteans to precede them in. "De Cara a la Pared" was playing as the Lanteans found seats. The mournful tune suited Rodney's mood. The Zelenkas sat at the front of the hall. The room was filled with rows of benches in front of a small podium. Next to the podium was a table with white chrysanthemums and a photograph. Rodney couldn't see what is was of from the back of the room, but Rodney assumed it was of Zelenka. There were about fifty people in the audience. The audience stayed silent as the second song began to play. Unlike the smoky jazz of the first song, this song had a tribal feel.  
  
"Telarian harvest hymn," Teyla said softly. Rodney was surprised the military had allowed Zelenka to send the recordings home. On the other hand as long as he didn't tell them who wrote it and it didn't have lyrics about the Wraith, music was music. Like math, it was a constant in every culture.  
  
After the hymn ended, the man who had given Radek's mother a glass of water approached the podium. He didn't strike Rodney as a minister. He was probably the strict Mr. Novak, an employee of the funeral home. His calm speech was undercut by the sound of tears from the Zelenkas' row. Mr. Novak returned to his seat as the third song began to play.  
  
"Belkan folk song," Teyla supplied. The woman in front of them with iron-gray curls turned around to give Teyla a dirty look. Rodney glared right back. The folk song was instrumental, just as the hymn had been. Rodney imagined Radek had had the lyrics digitally removed before he'd burned the CD.  
  
The next song was Terran. "Reverie by Dvorak," Rodney murmured. "He was a Czech composer." Teyla nodded. Rodney looked at John, who shrugged.   
  
"Sokran chain melody." This time it was Lorne who identified the song in a whisper.  
  
Teyla gasped when the haunting first bars of the fifth song began to play. Her eyes were bright with sudden tears.  
  
"Beyond the night, a rising sun," a woman sang. Her voice was oddly familiar. "Beyond the night, the battle is won -- the battle is won."  
  
"Athosian funeral dirge," Teyla whispered. Her fist was clenched. "Terinn and her family sang it for Anthropology years ago--"  
  
Zelenka's family would have no way of knowing Teyla's people had been taken. Zelenka might not have even realized Teyla would wish to attend his funeral when he'd sent the recording, much less that his family would select the music from Pegasus to play.  
  
Teyla started to cry, whether for her people or Zelenka McKay didn't know. John put an awkward arm around Teyla and Ronon took her hand. Rodney fiddled awkwardly with nothing, wishing the gray headed woman would turn around and glare again so Rodney could tell her off. He wanted to be angry. Anger was easier than missing Zelenka and dreading the inevitable meeting with his family.  
  
"The river flows that final way," the recorded memory of Terinn sang, "our first new breath, our journey begins. Our journey begins." The recording tapered off, the last note held tinnily on cheap speakers. Teyla sniffed, wiping her eyes hurriedly as the audience began to stand. The Zelenkas exited first, resuming their row at the entrance. Eliska and Natalie remained at the front of the hall, Eliska petting her sobbing parent's hair. The mourners were exiting slowly, pausing to exchange embraces or condolences with the Zelenkas. Rodney sat back down, wishing he hadn't eaten breakfast at all. Eliska and Natalie were a mess, Mirek was furious, Petr was every ounce the brat Radek had spoken of, and the in-laws were the only ones keeping it together. Rodney couldn't tell if his confession would do them any good, or even if they were up to hearing it.  
  
"Big crowd," Sheppard drawled uncomfortably.   
  
"Doctor Zelenka was the supervisor of a large department here, was he not?" Teyla asked.  
  
"Yeah, but you wouldn't catch me goin' to my old CO's funeral," Lorne said.  
  
"Pigeon racers," Ronon grunted, watching the crowd with Sheppard. Rodney watched as some of the audience stopped at the front of the hall to before leaving.  
  
Mr. Novak paused to talk to Eliska, then returned with a pen and paper. Eliska scribbled on a sheet, tore it off, and returned the tablet. After the last of the mourners had left, Eliska stood and pushed her mother's chair along the aisle toward the door.  
  
"We have to tear this down and finish with Mr. Novak," Eliska said softly, offering Sheppard the yellow piece of paper. "Meet us there in about an hour. And, uh, watch the cabbies. They can be dishonest."  
  
"We know," Lorne said blackly.  
  
"We could help," Sheppard offered.  
  
"No," Eliska said, holding up her hands. "That wouldn't be wise. Just, uh, just meet us there."  
  
The Lanteans left the funeral home. Five minutes and a scribbled drawing of a coffee cup later, a pair of cabs took them to a small coffee shop. The staff all spoke enough English for everyone to place their own orders. Rodney ordered the blackest brewed coffee they had, as did Sheppard and Lorne. Ronon and Teyla told the barista to surprise them and ended up with cappuccinos in heavy ceramic mugs.  
  
"That might not be a good idea," Lorne said. "Whenever my sister had coffee when she was pregnant she said the boys started bouncing around in there."  
  
"He is already 'bouncing around in there,'" Teyla said mildly. "I believe he senses my distress." Teyla lowered her eyes to her coffee.  
  
"Yeah," Rodney said half-heartedly. He stared at the black liquid in his cup. He sipped, but the coffee didn't warm him like it should, it just took the edge off the jet lag. Rodney knew he needed a clear head, but a clear head meant a sharp awareness of what was coming. Teyla's song would probably go over wonderfully, Teyla was like that, and she hadn't stupidly ordered Radek to his death. Mirek already held him accountable if that glare was anything to go by. Rodney took another long sip. He wished he'd paid more attention when Radek had talked about his siblings. It had always seemed so unimportant, so secondary to the task at hand. It was important now.  
  
Rodney wished Jeannie could be here. She was so much better at this. Maybe it was because she tried, or cared.  
  
 _Don't be such a baby, Radek. I go off world all the time._  
  
They weren't going to forgive him, which was good, because he didn't deserve it. Rodney was the smart one, the inter-galactic genius: he should have known.  
  
"Odd funeral, huh?" Lorne broke the silence, stilted and awkward.  
  
"There was no body," Teyla said with a shrug. "No need for a pyre. It is odd that his family did not sing, but then Dr. Zelenka only sang before others at that one memorial. I believe having recordings may have made the Czechs self-conscious about their own voices."  
  
"Not just the Czechs," Sheppard said.  
  
"Yeah, but there was just that one thing by the funeral home guy," Lorne said. He looked at Ronon and Teyla. "American funerals some of the family and close friends speak about the departed, not just the minister, and usually everybody sings the hymn afterwards."  
  
"On Sateda everyone wore mourning white, sang either the Invocation or the Mourning Prayer to the Elders and the nearest relative lit the pyre. We drank and feasted for the dead while the fire burned, then tilled the ashes into the ground or buried them near-- what do you call em?"  
  
"'Roses,' I believe, is the general term," Teyla said.  
  
"Those," Ronon agreed. He took a long sip of coffee.  
  
The hour passed slowly. Rodney spent the time mentally rehearsing what he would say to Radek's family. The speech stayed much the same as what he had decided upon when he'd first been given leave for the funeral, but Rodney kept going over it anyway. Practice made perfect, and this had to be perfect. He wouldn't get another chance.  
  
Finally Sheppard levered himself up out of his chair. Only Teyla and Rodney needed to be there, but Lorne and Ronon couldn't be left on their own. Sheppard tipped the waitress a little extra to use the restaurant phone to call a cab.  
  
"Why don't we just take that one sitting there?" Rodney asked, pointed to the silver car with a taxi sign sitting by the curb.  
  
"Because I don't feel like getting into a fistfight with a rogue cab driver," Sheppard said snottily. "Cops tend to frown on that." The cabs arrived twenty minutes later. Sheppard had drawn copies of Eliska's map during the wait: he gave one copy to each driver and kept the original for himself. When they arrived at the tall apartment complex, Lorne counted his change twice. The cab driver called him a name Rodney had only heard Radek use once before, on Everett during the Wraith siege their first year.  
  
The building was obviously old, but it was clean and well-kept. Ronon's head touched the elevator's ceiling.   
  
Rodney took a deep breath as John knocked on 402. Eliska answered.  
  
"Hi. Sorry for the crowd," Sheppard said with a slight smile. "I can't leave them alone. Lorne's been taken once already and Rodney tried to use a parked cab without a rate sign."  
  
"I work at one of the Tourist Information Centers," Eliska said, gesturing for them to come inside. "I understand." There were shoes piled in a cubby divider by the door. Sheppard removed his dress shoes. The Lanteans followed suit. Rodney concentrated on not falling on his ass. Teyla looked relieved to be out of her pumps, if only for a while.   
  
Eliska led them to a small living room. Radek's mother sat by the sofa in her wheelchair. On the sofa to Natalie's left Mirek's wife sat holding her daughter. Their son, Radomir, sat next to her. Radek's much-bemoaned nephew Petr was sitting on the end of the sofa. Lukas sat next to his son in a chair. Eliska sat on the chair farthest from the sofa and Mirek leaned against the wall behind them, glaring with more fury than Radek had ever dared. Rodney swallowed, his hands tingling.  
  
Eliska repeated her introductions, and Teyla repeated her story of the Athosian memorial and her request to return the honor for Eliska to translate.   
  
Mirek said something in a clipped tone of voice.   
  
"Mirek!" Eliska snapped.   
  
The elderly Mrs. Zelenkova spoke softly. Mirek looked at the floor, his mouth compressed in a thin line. Lukas didn't look much happier.  
  
Eliska turned to Teyla. "Mirek does not think that is necessary. Mother would like it very much, as would I. 'Beyond the Night' was lovely."  
  
"The funeral dirge is for those who died of natural causes," Teyla said with a smile. "It is a rare thing among my people. I know you meant no disrespect," Teyla said when Eliska's expression sharpened, "and I am honored you selected music from my country to play at your brother's service. Dr. Zelenka died getting innocent people to safety and fell to one of the other factions in the doing. For those who fall to the-- the other side there is a different song." Teyla pulled a small MP3 recorder from her pocket. "I was the only one of my people permitted to cross into your country, so I brought a recording of the instrumental section Anthropology made at much the same time as the music Dr. Zelenka sent you."  
  
Teyla paused while Eliska translated. When Eliska gestured for her to continue, Teyla set the recorder on the small table, turned up the volume as high as it would go, and started playback. The musician in Rodney winced. The recording was terrible. The melody, though, was as superior as the funeral dirge. The lyrics were just as weak. Unlike the funeral dirge, this song wasn't of the dawn existing on the other side of the darkness. The dirge for those taken by the Wraith spoke only of the darkness and of lost possibilities. When Teyla's powerful voice faded slowly away, Eliska and Vlasta were blinking wetly, Petr was staring in awe, and Mrs. Zelenkova had her hands clasped over her heart. Lukas couldn't look Teyla in the eye. Mirek's hostility hadn't dimmed in the slightest.  
  
Teyla bowed as much as her pregnancy would allow, and picked up her recorder. She touched Rodney's arm as they passed.  
  
"I, uh," Rodney said, "is there, um, any language she speaks besides Czech?" He gestured to Radek's mother.  
  
"Russian," Eliska said thickly. "We all do."  
  
"Oh," Rodney said. How lucky for him, in the usually dreadful way. Standing in front of the Zelenkas was far worse than anything, even worse than facing Weir after Doranda or facing the Becketts. The Becketts had been so warm and loving it had been impossible to be afraid -- only guilty. "Um." Rodney took a deep, steadying breath. He had to do this.  
  
" _I was Radek's boss in-- on base,_ " Rodney said hesitantly in his accented Russian. " _I gave the order for him to go to-- to the settlement he died at. I didn't think it wouldn't be safe. I would never have sent him if I though the-- the other side would have shown up that day. Facing down the Wr-- the other side at the eleventh hour is more my thing and, um, I-- I can't say I didn't know that if the Wr-- the other side came Radek wouldn't have done what he did. The Marines always called him a chickenshit, but-- but when it came time to doing what had to be done, Radek always came through for us._ "  
  
Rodney forced himself not to look away from Eliska's quietly grieving face. Mirek's hatred or Lukas's distaste would be too much as laid bare as he was. He didn't want to see what expression Mrs. Zelenkova wore hearing the confession of the man who had gotten her eldest child killed.  
  
" _If there hadn't been a Jumper -- a nickname for a type of aircraft -- there everything would have been fine. Radek would have just waited out the cull -- the genocide -- and come home. Or if the plane had been able to fly the Marines just would have gotten him out of there. But, uh, the enemy cut off air escape. The plane was hidden, so your brother left it to gather as many escaping civilians as he could to hide them in the plane, too. One of the enemy saw him doing it but-- but only after the civilians got away._ " Rodney looked at Mrs. Zelenkova. Her hands were pressed to her face, fingers steepled over her nose. Eliska was crying, one hand pressed over her mouth to stifle the sound. Vlasta wouldn't look at him.  
  
" _I am so, so, sorry that I sent him. I shouldn't have._ "  
  
Mrs. Zelenkova beckoned. Rodney walked the interminable distance to the wheelchair. He knelt. There was no reason to make slapping him difficult.  
  
" _Dr. McKay,_ " Mrs. Zelenkova said, reaching out to take Rodney's hand. Her skin was soft and dry. " _Radek was his father's son. Cleverer than his father, yes, cleverer than most, and more practical in the how than Otakar, but foolish, still, with a large ego that did not care for consequences or homeyness nor listened to anyone who tried to talk sense into him. What Radek wanted to do, he did, and if you stood in his way he would only go around you or behind you. There is nothing you or I could have done about that._ " Mrs. Zelenkova patted his hand, then let go.  
  
Rodney couldn't speak. This was every ounce as bad as Mrs. Beckett.   
  
" _You could have refused to hire him,_ " Mirek stated in Russian. Rodney couldn't keep from flinching. " _We're done. Thank you for paying your respects to my brother. Now, if you do not mind, we would like this time alone._ "  
  
Rodney didn't argue the point. He left the Zelenka apartment in a haze.  
  
"What did she say?" Sheppard asked when they reached the street.  
  
"She, uh, she said there wasn't anything I could have done."


	9. Day Fifteen, Unknown Planet

Radek woke. Then he froze, every muscle tense with sudden fear. The birds were scattering, crying sharp alarm in low tones. Their wings made no sound as they flew overhead.   
  
Zelenka rolled over onto his stomach, one hand reflexively wrapping around the handle of his glaive. A large, hoofed animal partly deer and partly horse cantered by. The night was dark, but the sound of heavy boots trampling both plant matter and stone was loud. Radek instinctively pictured State Security coming as they had first for his father. Then the flashback was over. He was hunted, but by a worse and more insatiable enemy than a few KGB henchmen.   
  
Barely breathing lest the sound of air in his lungs mask some important detail, Zelenka crawled slowly to the left. He slid through the underbrush bordering the river's sandy bank. The plants were rustling loudest to his left. The sound on the right was moving away from him: the animals. The moonless night was opaque. His stunner was useless and his traps weren't laid. The Wraith usually gave the previous Chaser four or five days before the next came. Apparently this Chaser was impatient. It was also possible that Runners who killed Wraith took a penalty in time.  
  
Radek couldn't tell how many Wraith there were, but he knew there were no drones. Drones simply didn't have the intellect to walk in time to mask their numbers, or else they had had all their prey instincts cloned out of them. Radek's instinct told him to gain height.   
  
Zelenka left his glaive on the ground below a thick branch. He scaled the tree as quickly and as quietly as he could. The Wraith was heading in his direction. If there were two Wraith they were stupid ones. The rustling didn't diverge, and now he could see a set of glowing dots approaching. The Wraith approached Radek's tree, the blue lights of his eyes tilting downward, rising to scan, and then tilting downward again. The Wraith halted directly below Radek. The stunner blast was almost deafening as it passed close to his branch. It was looking up at him now, element of surprise blown, and the second shot would not miss, Zelenka was sure.  
  
Radek dropped from his tree to land on the Wraith elbows and knees first. The Wraith snarled in pain and surprise as he collapsed under Radek's weight. Zelenka rolled off the Wraith and pushed himself to his feet. He drew his stunner. Blinding pain and breath whooshing out of his lungs made him drop the weapon. The Wraith must have kicked him. The glowing eyes rose into the air. Radek dropped flat and rolled.  
  
There really wasn't anything that got the heart pounding quite like that the sound of shot that missed.  
  
Zelenka scrabbled for his glaive, felt wood, and lashed out in an arc. He felt impact. The glowing eyes dropped, slid sideways, and then slid downward. Zelenka followed, bringing his glaive downward as soon as the eyes stopped moving. There was no squelch of blade meeting body. He'd brought down the wrong end, his feet and calves were wet, and the glowing dots were undulating.  
  
Radek leaned on his glaive with all his weight. Even Wraith had to breathe. He could hear splashing and gurgling in the clear river water. Zelenka felt the impact of the Wraith's hands on his weapon. Zelenka leaned more heavily. Not even a Wraith was strong enough to move almost seventy kilograms compressed to a single point that weighed on the torso.  
  
The Wraith Queen on the drilling platform had been able to hold her breath for at least twenty minutes. He was going to be here for a while. He didn't dare release the pressure lest the Wraith get to his feet.  
  
"One second count, two second count..." Radek began softly.  
  
 _You should have just left me alone,_ he thought to the struggling Wraith.  
  
"..twenty second count, twenty-one second count..."  
  
 _Eight of you have died backing me into a corner._  
  
"...two hundred forty second count, two hundred forty one second count..."  
  
 _It's not fun, not for you nor for me. I just want to go home._  
  
"...two hundred fifty-four second count, two hundred fifty-five..."  
  
The Wraith wasn't moving. He was faking, Radek was certain. He'd wait the full two thousand four hundred counted seconds before he flipped his weapon around and plunged the blade into the Wraith's chest. Then he'd take the transmitter and move on to the next address on his list.  
  
"...five hundred eighty-seven second count, five hundred eighty-eight second count..."  
  
The Wraith began thrashing again, as Zelenka had predicted. He didn't alter his nearly whispered count. His feet were freezing. Zelenka pushed the thought aside to focus.  
  
 _I'm not stupid, Wraith, no matter what Rodney says._  
  
"...six hundred thirty-three second county, six hundred thirty-four second count..."  
  
 _He might even be a little proud of me._  
  
"...seven hundred one second count, seven hundred two second count..."  
  
 _I know Ronon will be._  
  
"...one thousand five second count, one thousand six second count..."  
  
 _I certainly lasted longer then I thought I would._ His muscles were screaming for relief, he desperately wanted to move, and he might not be able to straighten his fingers ever again. The Wraith hadn't moved for a while. Zelenka refused to be fooled. Twice the time the Queen had held her breath and no less. He wasn't ready to die from stupidity.  
  
"...two thousand three hundred ninety-nine second count, two thousand four hundred second count."  
  
Radek lifted his glaive. It was almost unbearably heavy. He forced his arms to move. He felt the inertia gather and then help the weapon along. He sank the blade as deep into the Wraith's chest as it would go. The corpse didn't flinch. Zelenka dragged the dead Wraith to shore, pulled his glaive from the body, and dropped into an exhausted heap beneath the bushes. He'd take a nap, clean his blade, get the locater-beacon, and leave. Wraith technology was notoriously waterproof. Zelenka doubted forty minutes beneath water had done it any harm.  
  
 _I'm going home and none of you are going to stop me._


	10. Day Twenty, Atlantis Base

Rodney picked Dr. Weunche's name out of a hat, told her he'd expanded the title of Chief Engineer to Secondary Head of Sciences, and gave her the green binder. He blacked out Zelenka's guesses as to why Rodney was the way he was and the coding for the email-filtration program in marker. Then he sent out a city-wide email making the gatekeeper and paperwork aspects of Dr. Weunche's job official. He also sent Dr. Weunche an email saying he didn't expect her to equal Zelenka's brilliance but that she was welcome to keep cursing his manhood in German.  
  
He'd probably regret it later, but he had to give her at least some outlet for frustration if she was going to be the go-between linking McKay's unfettered intellect and the lesser minds of his minions. Weunche picked Coleman to replace her as day shift Assistant Engineer. Rodney supposed finding the Wraith Queen's underwater hideout proved Coleman could at least keep a cool head. In some ways that counted more than raw skill in Atlantis.  
  
McKay had expected Weunche to micro-manage, rearrange Engineering to suit her, and generally assert her new authority over her new subordinates. Instead she'd kept things exactly as Zelenka had left them. She even kept calling food and beverage spills ID-ten-T errors. It was unnerving. Zelenka was gone, but the power bar stash and the antihistamines in the desk drawer were still there. The swearing was in German instead of Czech, it happened at far less frequent intervals, but it happened.  
  
Weunche wasn't as assertive as Radek had been, though, which was a reprieve. Though Radek hadn't been assertive in the beginning. That had happened later, shortly before Radek had developed the ability to finish Rodney's thoughts before he spoke them aloud.  
  
Weunche couldn't finish his thoughts. She could barely keep up with what he said out loud. She did the paperwork, she managed the egos and the minions, she kept the power grid operational, but she just couldn't be McKay's right hand. The first time Rodney had called her in for a big job, he'd spent more time explaining things to her than he had fixing the problem. He finally banished her from the Chair Room and told her to tell him when she finished the Astrophysics texts Zelenka had left her. It had taken Zelenka a year to finish the stack. Who knew how long it would take Weunche. She wasn't used to teaching herself like Zelenka was.   
  
Even if Weunche was able to teach herself a doctorate's worth of astrophysics, Rodney still doubted she'd be enough. Radek had had a sneaky, cautious, and pragmatically amoral world view that he applied to science as much as chess. Telling Zelenka that the laws of physics didn't bend the way his lunatic idea required had often given Rodney his inspiration for a way the laws of physics _would_ bend. Of course, McKay would have had those inspirations on his own: he _was_ Rodney McKay. Zelenka had been a convenient brainstorming shortcut -- a way to save time so that the eleventh hour didn't become the eleventh half-hour, and a tidy bit of stress relief in the doing.   
  
There was also, of course, the rush of pride whenever Zelenka came up with something workable or when he pointed out that otherwise-fatal flaw in McKay's plan because Radek was _Rodney's find_. Rodney had been the one to notice his first article, Rodney had been the one to make the SGC hire him, Rodney had been the one to get Radek out from under Kavanagh and into a position deserving of his intellect, and _Rodney_ had been the one to hone that raw talent into something that could be his backup and replacement. And no one, not even Sam, realized the full extent of Rodney's masterpiece.   
  
Typical, really. Maybe that was why losing Radek still hurt so much. He hadn't just lost a friend, he'd lost a creation. Not that Radek would have ever admitted it alive, the man's ego was-- _had been._  
  
"What are you doing?" McKay suddenly demanded of Rorschach. The scientist flinched, dropping the bit of Ancient technology he was butchering. Butchering Ancient technology had become all the rage since Zelenka's passing, right along with inane proposals and a complete inability to proof one's own equations. Next someone would try to introduce Windows Vista into the Linux perfection that was the SGC/Lantean network. Even with Weunche supposedly filtering the worst of the stupidity from Rodney's sight, there was still more than enough idiocy going on to keep Rodney's throat almost perennially sore. He was going to run out of cherry lozenges soon, and he couldn't use the Vitamin C ones.  
  
On the other hand, the transfer list was gathering candidates by the day, so hopefully the dregs would be weeded out soon. Assuming, of course, the new hires wouldn't turn out to be equal dullards.  
  
"I was just--" Rorschach began defensively.  
  
"Yes, you were 'just,'" Rodney parroted viciously, moving to swipe the Ancient device up off the ground. "You were just prying apart this valuable and irreplaceable bit of Ancient technology with a screwdriver like it's a can of beanie-weenies." _Open,_ Rodney thought at the device, which immediately sprang open. "This thing, whatever it is, is irreplaceable. You, on the other hand, will be shipped back to Earth on the Apollo if you can't figure out to call someone with the ATA gene when you get stuck instead of launching into a caveman routine. You are not Ronon. Do you understand?"  
  
"I wasn't hurting it--"  
  
"Do you understand?" Rodney said again, louder.  
  
"Yes, sir," Rorschach snapped. He took the device from McKay. "We all miss Dr. Zelenka, you know. Stop taking it out on us with these rages all the time."  
  
For a moment, the blood in his body seemed to pool at his feet, leaving him hollow and faintly nauseous. Then the blood fanned upward to fill him with an unbearable heat. How dare Rorschach say McKay was acting out of grief, for Radek of all people, and how dare Rorschach imply he could even understand--  
  
"You're fired," Rodney snarled, snatching the device from Rorschach's hand. "You're fired, get out, go pack your things."  
  
"You can't--"  
  
"Yes I can, and I am!" Rodney bellowed, and if the Lab wasn't staring at him before it was now. "Now get out of my sight." Rorschach apparently decided he wasn't going to win with McKay, because he picked up his tablet with a huff and left the Lab. McKay whirled around to stare at the other brainless, talentless dolts that made up his science team. "What are you looking at?"  
  
"Nothing," Weunche said with a finality that made him want to punch her in the face and crawl in a hole at the same time.


	11. Day Twenty-two, Unknown Planet

Things went to shit almost as soon as Radek stepped through the Gate. He knew intellectually that he would run across an inhabited world sometime, but he had not expected it to be so soon nor for the reaction to be so immediate.  
  
"Wraith Worshiper!" The group of humans surrounding the DHD had to be a trading party. They had carts laden with goods, bundles upon their backs, and long staves to fight off highwaymen. The first woman's cry was immediately taken up by the rest of the party.  
  
"No!" Radek protested, bringing up his glaive instinctively. "No, no Wraith worshiper! I am a Runner--" The first two who attacked him were the boldest and the most unskilled. Radek struck only with the dull end of his weapon, twisting one man's staff away from him before shoving him into the path of his partner's strike. "No, listen to me, I am a Runner originally from Atlantis--" The third and fourth attackers were more vicious and more skilled than the first two. Radek took a blow to the ribs and leg in short order. "--I don't want to hurt you, I'll leave immediately--"  
  
"Wraith Worshiper!"  
  
The fourth man raised his staff in a fierce overhead strike. Radek blocked it, not pausing in his protestations, and the blinding pain that numbed him from the lumbar spine down really wasn't a surprise. He dropped helplessly to his knees under the force of the blow, and the mob was upon him. Zelenka's glaive was torn from his grasp, blows landed on shoulder and ribs, someone stepped on his ankle. Radek felt the scream torn from his throat more than he heard it. He couldn't hear anything over the echoing screams of "Wraith Worshiper!"  
  
They were going to kill him. The fear made his extremities tingle and shortened his breath. If he was still forcing protests past his lips, he couldn't even hear them himself.  
  
Radek grabbed his glasses and flung them blindly to the side. Then he curled inward, bringing his arms up to protect his head as sticks and rocks were added to staves and boots. He was surrounded, pain raining in on every side and no escape.  
  
"Wraith Worshiper!"  
  
"No, Runner!" Radek screamed. A booted foot made it past his knees to slam into his gut. The boot's owner reeked of sharp alcohol, bitter almonds and sweet plums, mingling the new terror with the old.  
  
_"The problem with American interrogators is that they have no grasp of subtlety," Podplukovník Pavel Svoboda said, pouring slivovice into two glasses. He handed one to Radek. Zelenka took the glass from his superior, cradling the drink in his hand as the smell made his stomach twist. He didn't want to drink Svoboda's drink any more than he wanted to be there, in his stiff StB uniform on Svoboda's plush sofa, but he didn't have any choice in the matter. Svoboda held the other end of his very short leash and the consequences of chewing himself free wouldn't fall just upon Radek.  
  
"Beatings, water boarding, the like: a strong enough character can resist long enough to die, and those who can't won't give you accurate information," Svoboda continued. He sat down on the other end of the sofa, an arm across the back. It made Radek feel cornered, trapped. "To stop the pain, they just say what you want to hear... which has its place." Svoboda turned to smile at Radek, the curve of lips above a square jaw. His green eyes were deceptively warm, a mask of almost-kindness Radek knew was just that. A man did not become a Podplukovník in the StB -- the state security agency -- by being compassionate.  
  
Radek hid his discomfort by taking a drink of the slivovice, fear and hate warring equally in his heart. Sometimes he thought Svoboda believed Radek had forgotten that Svoboda had been the man to interrogate Radek's father. Sometimes he thought Svoboda intended to make sure he remembered it always.  
  
"It's better to shatter the will from within. Once the desire to resist has been removed, the rest attends to itself and stays attended to. It takes patience and observation, Radek, but everything has a weakness."_  
  
"Everyone knows that Runners are just a lie Wraith worshipers tell, Wraith Worshiper." A thick hand around his throat and a wrist beneath his numb hands. "Now you're going to get what's coming to you for turning on your own kind."  
  
_Young Radek didn't know if State Security was going to kill him or not. He was cuffed to the bed and there were two stern guards outside his door that hadn't been there before. Before they'd only had the door locked, a lock that had yielded easily enough to a pair of paper clips and Radek's skill. His siblings' rooms had been equally unprotected. They'd raided the laundry for clothes and been on their way out, slipping past unnoticed by pretending to belong, when Radek's ears had started ringing and the blackness at the edges of his vision had become an eclipsing totality.  
  
Judging by how badly his side hurt, he'd hit a medical cart on his way down. Radek rocked his wrist, the cuffs clanging against the metal frame. He would probably be able to pick his way free, but what then? Burly and Giant out there weren't going to fall for the "I belong" trick. Even if he did escape their notice, he couldn't escape the hospital like this. Not if he was going to pass out on the edge of freedom.  
  
He was stuck, just like his father, wherever Otakar Zelenka was. He'd always believed they'd be sent to Siberia if they were ever caught, but the looks the nurses kept giving him were too pitying for exile.  
  
Radek hadn't thought much about the future beyond scraping up the next meal, collecting the next bundle of firewood, stealing or altering the next church registry. He'd never considered there might not be a future. He wished he had. He could have planned for this, braced his siblings for it instead of letting it sneak up on them like a vengeful ghost.  
  
Like Jiří's death. It hadn't been a surprise, but they hadn't been ready for it either. They hadn't even been able to give him a proper funeral, the ground too frozen for burial and not enough wood for a pyre. They'd just piled stones on his body that some hungry animal almost certainly would push aside. If there was anything left to Jiří it was bones in the middle of the woods.  
  
Radek covered his mouth, his eyes burning with tears, as hot on his cheeks as the fever that had nearly killed him. Eliska had recovered on her own, as had Mother and Father. Mirek had recovered in the hospital, or so the nurses told him. They were all being kept there until the doctors were satisfied with their progress, whatever that meant. Radek suspected it had something to do with their weight. Radek had told the nurse it was only winter, that come summer when there was more to eat than rabbits and bark they'd plump back up to normal. The nurse had just patted his hand and said those days were past.  
  
Those days _were _past, because with Father and Mother captured there was no need to run. The pamphlets his father had printed and distributed, living as a hermit outside villages and moving on when the local police began to suspect, would have already been confiscated, as would have his father's precious book of Rousseau. His father wouldn't be printing calls for revolution anymore. His mother wouldn't be teaching his siblings in their tent while Radek either hunted or stole what they needed. She wouldn't pose as a widow every now and then to live the good comrade's life under an assumed name while Radek smuggled printing supplies to wherever Father was hiding. There would be no more stories spun for his siblings' amusement, no more wild summer berries, no more hope of school. They wouldn't even have the dark green tent of grandfather's that had been their home-in-hiding.  
  
For Radek and his parents, he was sure, the only things left would be whatever StB cared to punish them with. For his siblings, though, there would be a measure of comfort and security as wards of the State. Radek imagined that that was really all he could ask for. He didn't even know how they'd been caught. He imagined Mother must have been followed from trying to get medicine in town, or else that the doctor had told, or that she'd been caught and confessed. He didn't know.  
  
Part of him didn't care. At least the running was over now. He didn't have to look over his shoulder for the StB, they were standing right there.  
  
A nurse entered with a tray, a steaming bowl, and a mug. Radek sat up obediently as the nurse placed the tray on his lap and took his pulse and temperature. She wrote them on the little tablet at the end of his bed.  
  
"You gave us all a fright, young man," the nurse said primly. "The rheumatic fever might be over, but your body still took a nasty shock between the illness and running all over the Javorníky mountains in the dead of winter. I have no idea what your father could possibly have been thinking, dragging his family along with him like that."  
  
"He's our father," Radek said stubbornly. It was broth again, but it was food, so Radek didn't complain. "And he didn't want the State to indoctrinate us." Radek had no idea what "indoctrinate" meant, but it sounded bad.  
  
The nurse snorted.  
  
Radek felt the change in the air before the man appeared at his door, tall with broad shoulders and a dark mustache. He wore a light tan shirt and green pants. Except for the stern line of his jaw, the man's mouth and bright green eyes were gentle. The nurse's mouth and eyes tightened. She was afraid.  
  
"Begging your pardon, Porucik," she said, her eyes lowered submissively. "Only a few minutes."  
  
"He blacked out in the middle of a hall yesterday," the man said dryly. "I'm not a stupid man, Nurse."  
  
"Yes, sir. Of course not, sir." The nurse left the room.  
  
"Are you feeling better, Radomir?" Porucik asked mildly. He used Radek's full name, not the diminutive everyone else used.  
  
"You don't have to pretend to care, Agent Porucik, you can just ask your questions," Radek told the man, as if he was fearless. He set his spoon down on the tray and lifted the bowl to his lips to drink. The broth scalded, but it was faster this way. There was a chance Porucik would see it as a sign of weakness. It was a chance worth taking. If this was his last meal, he was taking as much as he could.  
  
The agent blinked.  
  
"Who says I am pretending?" the agent said in that same mild voice.  
  
Radek met the agent's eyes. Older children had always backed off at that look and though the agent was not a child, he was almost certainly a bully.  
  
The agent blinked again. "I have no questions to ask you. You are not the perpetrator, Radomir, but the victim. Failing to support you and your siblings through work and failing to enroll you in school are both crimes. Sedition is a crime, a crime your father got away with at the cost of your brother's life and nearly at the cost of your own." The agent approached the side of Radek's bed. "Seeing to you and your siblings into the care of Social Services is part of investigating your father. Porucik is my rank. My name is Pavel Svoboda." The agent held out his broad, callused hand.  
  
Radek stared blankly. This wasn't at all what he had imagined his first meeting with the StB to be like at all. Threats, torture, dark cells with no windows -- his father had told him of those and more as warnings of what awaited those who thought for themselves under Communism and those who helped them -- but not this. It seemed too good to be true – it had to be – but Svoboda didn't feel like he was lying and Radek couldn't imagine a reason for Svoboda to tell that particular lie. Everything he'd heard about the StB suggested brutality was the only future for prisoners. Care in a hospital and being told there would be neither exile nor execution for him today didn't make sense outside Svoboda's explanation.  
  
But this was the StB. They weren't capable of mercy.  
  
"You're supposed to take my hand with yours for a few moments. It's a handshake, a common form of greeting between men," Svoboda explained. Radek knew what a handshake was, he wasn't stupid even if he'd spent thrice the time out of school than in, but he didn't tell Svoboda that.  
  
Svoboda's skin was dry and warm, like the page of an old book._  
  
"Cry for mercy, Wraith Worshiper Beg for mercy like my brother did when your masters culled him!"  
  
Radek had his eyes closed, but he knew when it was his own glaive that struck him.  
  
"Cry for mercy like my mother and father and my sister, Wraith Worshiper! Beg for mercy and see if the Ancestors hear you!"  
  
_Radek hadn't merely been a thief to support his parents and his siblings, he'd been a predator as well. He'd wriggled his fingers like worms only to snatch unsuspecting fish from streams, laid baited snares for rabbits and rats, seen mother birds try to distract him from their eggs by feigning weakness. He'd seen his quarry pause the moment before taking the final step, a brief feeling that something was wrong that was promptly ignored to their detriment.  
  
Radek knew he wasn't very smart -- he hadn't been in school enough for that -- but he wasn't stupid. Something was going on. The nurses brought food four times a day, which was two more times than they'd eaten even when Mother had had a good job in the villages. At first the fare had been just broth, then soup and porridge, and now bread, eggs, stewed vegetables, and chicken. For the last four days, there had been beef for dinner. Not once in all the times Mother had posed as a widow had there ever been beef in the shops: that was for the military only. Radek might not be a criminal in Svoboda's eyes -- if the man was telling the truth -- but he was still a penniless and jobless civilian with a father in StB custody.  
  
They weren't letting him see his siblings, either. Radek asked every day only to be told to focus on his own recovery instead. They weren't letting his mother see him, either. The only time he saw anyone outside the guards, the nurses, and Doctor Herebiček were the walks the doctor insisted on. His guard had dropped to one at a time, but the man stationed at his door came with him always. None of the other patients would even make eye contact, much less talk to him.  
  
Svoboda talked to him, though. He came three times a week, each time bringing a new book. They were children's books far beneath what Radek knew he should be able to read, but they were still difficult in places. The books spoke too nicely of the government for Radek's liking, still, they were something to read. Sometimes Svoboda brought locks for him to pick, tools for him to comment on, or asked him questions about trapping and hunting. Once he brought a page and told Radek to add a name to it so that no one would know it was done. Svoboda brought Radek the vinegar, raw egg, soot, and honey he asked for with disbelief, but admitted he couldn't tell which name had been added when Radek finished.  
  
Svoboda asked about ink recipes after that, taking notes as Radek explained how to make a durable ink from hawthorn bark, a bright red ink from some sort of berry Radek didn't know the name of but made you throw up if you ate it, and blue ink from a plant with yellow flowers. Radek's father had made his own paper and inks to help avoid detection by the StB, and Radek had learned everything his father knew. Radek couldn't see any reason not to answer the Porucik's questions: they'd already taken his father's supplies, having the recipe couldn't hurt anyone.  
  
He just couldn't imagine why they wanted to know. Radek rocked his wrist, making the cuff clink against the bed rail. He'd never thought anything could be harder than running. At least when they'd been fleeing the StB he'd had his family.  
  
He could run again. There was only one guard outside and he was a lot stronger than he had been. The idea of taking his remaining siblings and leaving was a tempting one, but it was snowing outside his window. There were no guarantees that he wouldn't lose Mirek or Eliska like he had Jiří. He might never see them again under the government's care, but they'd be healthy and fed.  
  
He just wanted to see them one more time. He at least wanted to say goodbye, more of a goodbye than spooning around his brother to keep him warm while Jiří's body spasmed until it was stilled by the rattling exhale of death. He wanted more of a goodbye than shaking the corpse afterward, first gently and then hard, only to bow over what was left of his brother in an absurd parody of prayer, mewling protests between the sobs. Radek pressed his hand over his mouth to stifle himself, then pressed his face into the pillow so the guard wouldn't hear him crying.  
  
It had been nearly a month: a month without Jiří and a month since he'd seen his siblings; a month of Svoboda's refusals and his questions; a month that could very well turn into a lifetime. Radek didn't even know what that lifetime would be. Would he, too, be placed in an orphanage or with another family? Would he live with strangers until he was old enough to be out on his own? Svoboda said he would not be executed or sent to prison, but then why all the questions? Why feed him so well? Why would no one tell him anything, about his family or his own future?  
  
Radek desperately wanted for things to go back to the way they were. The constant hunger, the cold, the running: they were at least better than this. At least then he'd known what was to become of him, that his family would be there in the morning, and Jiří had been alive. Radek pressed his face harder into the pillow. He curled around himself as much as the handcuffs would allow, head on knees and arms wrapped around them. Radek could feel the tendons and bone beneath his thin skin.  
  
He was alone. The empty place in his mind where Jiří used to be yawned open, endlessly cold, and he could not feel his family. His parents were probably dead.  
  
Radek was responsible for his family now. If Svoboda would only let him work, he could provide for both his siblings. There was no need to take them away, no need except the fear that Radek would follow in his father's footsteps. He wouldn't. He'd behave forever if he could only be with Mirek and Eliska.  
  
Radek bolted upright when Svoboda knocked softly on his door. Radek wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve.  
  
"Come in," Radek said. Svoboda entered. His face was the same kind mask. "Where are my siblings?" Radek demanded.  
  
"With another family, as I said," Svoboda said. "And as I said, you must concentrate on getting well, not on them."  
  
"I want to see them."  
  
"I know you do," Svoboda said. "You are quite the caretaker." Svoboda came to a stop by Radek's bed. He carried a manila folder: more tests. Svoboda rested the edge of the folder on Radek's bed.  
  
"I know he's your father," Svoboda said more softly still. "I know that you want to believe what he told you was true. It isn't."  
  
"He says you're only interested in power and the good of Russia, not the Czechoslovak people. He says you're heartless," Radek accused.  
  
"Those," Svoboda said with gentle firmness, "are American lies. See, in America everyone is free to own and say whatever they want. It sounds good, but it creates problems. This group over here, they say that God wants everyone to act a certain way. This group over here, they say that God does not matter. And that group there does not care for God or good but only for their own money. And so the groups fight and squabble and slander each other, and while they fight? The poor slip through the cracks. You and your family were only hungry because your father _would not _work even though it is a crime. In America people want to work but sometimes cannot find jobs, and so they starve. Here, in Communism, we all give up a little bit of freedom so that everyone may eat and be clothed.  
  
"Your father tries to disrupt that with his lies. He wants Czechoslovakia to be like America, whether people fall through the cracks or not. We cannot allow him to do that to his fellow countrymen. Look what he has done to his family already." Svoboda gestured to Radek's bed. "Look what he's done to you. How long has it been since you have been in school, Radomir? If your father had not been a fugitive, if he had tried to keep you out of school living as a normal man, the State would have forced him to send you."  
  
Radek set his mouth in a stubborn line. When Mother had hidden in the villages living the good comrade's life, they had had regular meals, a wood stove, and school: they had been rich in Radek's eyes. It was disloyal and cowardly, but part of Radek had always wished his father didn't write the pamphlets so he could have school and riches all the time.  
  
He wasn't admitting that to Svoboda.  
  
"In America," the Porucik continued, "I would have to let you and your family slip through the cracks. I would have no choice but to kill your mother for treason. Your brother and sister would be sent to an orphanage, and you would be put to work in the fields as too far behind to be worth teaching." Svoboda's voice was even, without malice, as if he was discussing the color of the sky instead of painting Radek's fear in words.  
  
"In Communism, we all belong to the State. We are State resources as much as food, vehicles, and the roads. Doing as I would have to do were I American would be a waste of those resources, Radomir. Your mother was faced with the choice of losing her children or her loyalty to the State, and while she wavered for a time, she did make the right choice by turning your father in." The bottom dropped out of Radek's stomach. Svoboda continued on unheeding, "I think the loss of your brother Jiří was enough punishment for her. I intend to show leniency. This way your brother and sister are not deprived of their mother."  
  
"But?" Radek asked, ashamed of how his voice shook.  
  
"But it is a great risk for me," Svoboda said. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing Radek. His green eyes were urgent. "There is a large chance my superiors will not agree with me, unless I can show them that it would be a better use of State resources to do as I recommend."  
  
"Meaning?" He sensed the snare with the born instinct of a hunter who'd laid snares of his own. Radek wasn't sure how he could avoid being trapped in it. The bait was just too good.  
  
"Meaning that at thirteen you picked the lock on your hospital room, evaded both guards at your door and somehow managed to free your siblings as well. If your body had not been weakened by illness, you doubtless would have escaped from under our noses. Your siblings tell me you have been the family provider for some time now. You may have been deprived of schooling by your father's poor choices, Radomir, but you are not stupid. That intellect is a State resource, one that could do great good if properly cultivated.  
  
"So here is what I propose to you. The Party will postpone punishing your mother for aiding and abetting of your father out of concession for her situation and your siblings. You and your family will be permitted to live as normal citizens. Your mother will be given a job. You, on the other hand, will be given all the schooling your head can absorb. You're very far behind, so a tutor will be arranged for your academic classes. The papers I have with me are an academic exam to see just how far behind you are. As soon as you are fit, you will join your year-mates in the military preparation courses.  
  
"If you work very hard and prove to be as bright as I think you are, we will teach you what you need to know to be of most benefit to the Party. I imagine you will end up working in a research and development capacity for your mandatory military service. Afterwards we may keep you there or we may move you to a civilian capacity. If you prove to be a law-abiding, loyal citizen, I do not see why we can't forget about executing your Mother entirely. I also see no reason a small stipend cannot be added to your mother's salary while you are in her care so that you may be free of the obligation to support your siblings and may focus on your studies."  
  
Radek met Svoboda's green eyes. He was trapped. Svoboda was offering him his family, the bait he knew Radek couldn't refuse anymore than he could refuse to breathe. Even in his helplessness, there was joy at the prospect of seeing Mirek, Eliska, and his Mother again.  
  
"Do we have a deal?" Svoboda asked, giving Radek a calculating look. Radek nodded.  
  
"Thank you, Porucik," Radek said softly, holding his hand out for the test._  
  
"Are you crying to your masters in Wraith-speech, Wraith Worshipper?"  
  
_Radek had only been reunited with his family for a week when Svoboda showed up on their small housing unit's doorstep. Svoboda was as crisply-dressed as always, not a hair out of place and a kind face that belied the calculating mind within. Svoboda succeeded where other men failed by means of that kind exterior, Radek was learning. His mother was thoroughly cowed by having her children returned to her and being given both housing and employment without punishment. Even if Radek was stupid enough to risk his family's security, his mother would be a better enforcer than a score of StB agents.  
  
"Good afternoon, Porucik," his mother said, offering Svoboda a seat. Radek hung back, watching from the kitchen. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"I'm here to borrow Radomir," Svoboda said pleasantly. "For an-- outing." Radek pushed himself away from the table. He held his language text in his hands as he entered the small living area. Svoboda held a slim case in his hands. "Ah, there you are. I want you to put these on."  
  
Radek braced his book between his arm and his ribs to take the case. Inside were clothes.  
  
"Yes, sir," Radek said obediently. He did everything obediently these days. He took the case and his book back to the bedroom he and his siblings shared. He and Mirek had one side of the curtained room, Eliska the other. Mirek was finishing up his math in preparation for the morning. The room was still cool with pre-dawn chill. Radek set his book on top of the trunk at the end of his bed, then set the case on top of the bed.  
  
"What's that?" Mirek asked curiously. Mirek was almost back to summer-weight, as was Eliska. Radek couldn't count his own ribs through his skin anymore. Radek was the bait for Svoboda's favor: Mother made certain he ate the best. It was embarrassing to be singled out that way. It made him feel like Svoboda owned him and Mother was only an enthusiastic babysitter.  
  
Which, Radek imagined, in a way she was. Svoboda could take him from his family at any time.  
  
"I don't know," Radek said. "The Porucik wants me to wear it." Radek did his best not to say Svoboda's name. It seemed like bad luck.  
  
Radek pulled the clothes out of the case. They were nice: tidy blue trousers, a crisp white shirt, a blue vest, a black wool coat, and shiny black shoes. Even their school clothes weren't as good.  
  
Radek had a bad feeling as he pulled the clothes on. They'd all taken a hot bath yesterday instead of the usual cold one. Radek had thought it was a treat for Mirek's birthday. Now he wondered if it hadn't been on Svoboda's coin in preparation for the morning. He went back to Svoboda and handed him the case.  
  
"Handsome," Svoboda commented, tilting Radek's chin up with one warm, callused finger. "I think he'll make a striking young man, don't you?"  
  
His mother wasn't stupid enough to disagree. Radek pulled on the black coat. It was warm, better than anything they could ever hope to afford. Radek supposed that being even further in Svoboda's debt couldn't possibly matter, or it was possible he was only to use the clothes for this one outing and then give them back. It would be a shame. The coat was of a good enough quality that Eliska could use it after him, and Mirek after her.  
  
Svoboda bid goodbye to Radek's mother. Radek hugged her goodbye. She kissed the top of his head.  
  
The seats of Svoboda's car were cold. The car's engine roared to life. Radek watched the countryside slide by the windows.  
  
"I'm taking you to see your father," Svoboda said. Radek turned to stare at Svoboda incredulously.  
  
"You lie!"  
  
"I am not," Svoboda said. "He has requested to see you before being shipped to the mines, and I have allowed his request."  
  
It didn't seem like something the StB would do, and Svoboda's demeanor felt different than it had before: slick and anticipatory cold instead of mere false warmth.  
  
"That's not why," Radek said.  
  
Svoboda didn't say anything for a while. "You are right that I don't care what the traitor wants," the Porucik finally said. "But I want him to see you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You'll understand once we get there. Just answer all my questions truthfully."  
  
Radek didn't like the sound of that at all.  
  
They met Radek's father in a brightly-lit room. There was a stark wood table with chairs on either side.  
  
Radek's father stood when they entered the room. There were dark circles under his eyes. His hollowed cheeks were dark with stubble, and he was thinner than he'd been when Radek had seen him. Still, his smile upon seeing his son was brilliant. For the moment Radek forgot where he was and bolted to his father's side. Radek could feel his father's ribs when he hugged him. He couldn't feel the cool steel of the handcuffs through his wool coat, but he knew they were there.  
  
"Radek," his father said. "I was worried."  
  
"Radomir is fine, as you see," the Porucik said.  
  
Radek stepped back. The Porucik pulled out a chair.  
  
"Sit," Svoboda ordered. Both Radek and his father obeyed. Radek stared at his father's gaunt figure. There were no bruises or other signs of beating, but there were no signs of health, either. His father looked exhausted. Svoboda was dangerously calm. Radek folded his hands on the table and tried to look unafraid.  
  
"Radomir,"Svoboda said evenly, "how many times a day does your family eat?"  
  
"Three, sir," Radek said.  
  
"And how is this food paid for?"  
  
"Mother has a job making the uniforms for the military and-- and we are paid for my schooling."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"So that I don't have to work and may concentrate on my studies, sir." Radek couldn't meet his father's eyes, and so he looked at the table. He was a good comrade now. His father would be ashamed. Was ashamed.  
  
"And how are you schooled?"  
  
"I have a tutor." When he caught up with his year-mates – if he ever caught up with his year-mates – he would join regular school.  
  
"Your siblings? How are they cared for, academically?"  
  
"They're in school."  
  
"I know what you're doing," Radek's father rasped. Radek flinched. "You think that with a few hot meals and some books you can buy my son's loyalty, and now you're trotting him out like a trained hound."  
  
"Radomir, is how I've treated you and your family anything like your father described before your capture?" Svoboda's voice was smooth, as if Radek's father had not spoken.  
  
"No, sir," Radek said softly.  
  
"And on your brother's grave and on his soul, if there is such a thing, do you intend to jeopardize the health and security of your family by rebelling against the state?"  
  
Radek bit his lip and shrunk in on himself. His father would never forgive him, but the family was his responsibility now. It always had been, really.  
  
"Radomir?"  
  
"No, sir," Radek whispered, ashamed. "On Jiří's grave and soul."  
  
"You did not have to hold Jiří as he died, traitor," Svoboda said. "You did not have to steal to support your wife and children while you vagabonded about spreading American lies. Your son did all of that for you, and he is a better provider for your family than you.  
  
"I did not purchase your son's loyalty. He simply has proper priorities, and a greater understanding of the inevitability of the State."  
  
Svoboda stood. "Come along, Radomir. It is time for you to return to your family."  
  
Radek didn't look at his father when he stood up, nor did he glance behind him as he walked away. The feeling of devastated shock emanating from his father was unbearable enough.  
  
His father's broken confession on the radio that night and in the newspapers the next morning was no surprise. Svoboda let Radek keep the coat._  
  
The mob had stopped its taunting. It was clear the object of their justice was not hearing them.  
  
_Radek had kept his bargain with the Party. He'd worked hard in school and in university, first making up for his deficiency to graduate with his year-mates and then earning a double-doctorate in electrical engineering and electronic engineering in the space of time the rest of his class had earned a single degree. Radek had ended up in Research and Development, as Svoboda had predicted. He'd been assigned to help design a weapon to use against Soviet enemies. Radek hated the work and hated the Party. He even hated himself for collaborating.  
  
He didn't have a choice. Radek wasn't his father. He made enough at his current post to support himself and send home help for Mother, Mirek, and Eliska. He couldn't risk losing them that support on a fool's quest to overthrow the KSČ. Even without the economic realities, the now- Podplukovník Svoboda held the other end of a very short leash. Radek looked away from the window. He could imagine it, a black length of leather running from his throat to the burly hands of the man sitting across from him on the government transport plane.  
  
Svoboda liked to tug on the leash every now and then, just in case Radek had forgotten it was there. Tea with his mother, stopping by Radek's lab late at night to ask about Eliska's welfare or Mirek's studies, and now this trip to Prague to report the StB's progress to Svoboda's superiors.  
  
Radek's colleagues envied Radek the Podplukovník's patronage. Novak, Novotný, Černy, Kral: all his comrades on the plane were loyal, law-abiding comrades looking forward to climbing the ranks of the KSČ. Radek was law-abiding, but he wasn't loyal. In his deepest heart he hoped the West and the dissidents brought the Party to its knees -- everywhere, not just Czechoslovakia.  
  
"You'll enjoy Prague, Radomir," Svoboda said warmly. "It's the city whose glory reaches to the stars." Novotný looked away from the clouds to shoot Radek a dirty look. Radek's intelligence really didn't help matters. He had an ability to pick up on the fly what others took years to learn. Close association with his coworkers and a couple of textbooks read in his spare time had made him a passable mechanical engineer as well on top of his doctorates. He was not just the Podplukovník's pet, but the StB R&D's golden boy. The fact he did not want either honor did nothing to assuage the petty jealousies and pettier revenges.  
  
Radek's childhood dreams of a crystal city in the stars were nothing but ash now. He doubted Prague would be able to replace them even if Radek wasn't merely a visitor.  
  
"I'm sure I will, sir," Radek said formally.  
  
"The castles, bridges, and gardens are magnificent, and the Astronomical Clock is a sight to behold. The food there is excellent, of course, with good black beer and vodka so pure it has no smell. There are other amusements, of course, more suited to a young man your age than one of mine."  
  
Radek's stomach clenched. Only long practice kept his hands from following suit. Tug.  
  
"I don't believe so, sir."  
  
"No interest in women, a handsome man like you?"  
  
Radek looked away from Svoboda's green eyes to stare out the window. He wasn't handsome: average height and wiry build, with slate-gray eyes behind glasses that were forever slipping down his too-long nose. His body was taut from military drills and the uniform gave him an illusion of puissance, but at his core he was just a scientist who had more than had his fill of being at the top.  
  
"Well, how fortunate for me. It will be good to show Prague off to one who has never been there before. Your company is far more enjoyable than that of my stalwart State Security colleagues."  
  
Tug, tug, tug...  
  
Terezín was on the horizon. He could hear the screams of the long-dead Jews in the back of his mind, layer upon layer of suffering and death imprinted in the very walls. Radek curled deeper inside himself without moving a muscle. He had problems enough without imagining horrors of the past.  
  
The sound of explosion caught him by surprise. The plane lurched and bucked, slamming him against the black restraints he'd left on despite his colleagues' mockery. The windows on the other side of the compartment were solid gray. Radek realized what had happened just before the pilot announced it. One of the engines on the opposite side of the plane had exploded, and they were going to crash. The remaining engined howled, trying to carry the missing engine's load, as the ground drew close with a terrifying rapidity in the window. Svoboda launched himself from his seat. He held on to the seat backs, riding the plane as it yawed and pitched. Radek gripped the arms of his seat.  
  
If he'd known he was going to die, he would have told Svoboda what he could do with his leash.  
  
The plane screamed, metal shearing and the roar of engines. So did Radek as they hurtled from the sky._  
  
"He's dead."  
  
The human body shouldn't be able to feel that much. Nothing could be gained from this kind of agony: it wasn't like he wouldn't have stopped the cause of the pain already if he could. It hurt just as badly as he remembered, just as badly as he'd feared. Pain didn't get any easier. It was constant, like the weak nuclear force. Radek's ears were buzzing and he felt like he was floating, disconnected from his body but vehemently a part of its suffering until he spiraled down into blissful darkness.  
~*~  
  
Zelenka awoke with a groan that caused almost as much pain as it expressed. There wasn't an area on his body that didn't cry out for attention and relief. Even the inside of his mouth and his throat begged, though for water instead of acetaminophen-codeine. Radek flicked his tongue over his lips to wet them and tasted copper. The side of his head felt sticky. Each shallow breath was a new torture and his shoulders felt ready to tear away from his body. Radek tried to move them and felt a stabbing pain in his wrists.  
  
Slowly, Radek twisted and craned his head. His wrists were tied above his head. The rope was looped around the tree and over two branches.  
  
"That explains the difficulty breathing," Radek croaked. The villagers had hung his body as either warning or trophy, and if he was not so dead as they thought he would die slowly of suffocation when his diaphragm gave out. He was already dangerously close. The pain was the only thing grounding him: hypoxia or a head wound, probably both. It could also be the groggy disorientation he used to feel after the flashback-ridden panic attacks that had dogged him in the years following his brush with gravity. This time Ganya and his flock of racing pigeons wouldn't be there to pull Zelenka out of it.  
  
Focus.  
  
Radek told his wrist to twist against the bindings. It did, though far more slowly than normal. The night was cold. It was probably numbing the pain, but it was making this harder. Zelenka twisted his wrist again. The knot wasn't pressure sensitive nor a slip-knot. It was designed to hold a corpse, not a prisoner. Radek dug his heels into the bark of the tree and tightened his legs. He bit his lip to keep from screaming and tasted fresh blood. Zelenka pushed up, pulling with both arms. He twisted and turned his right wrist. His left wrist was supporting the bulk of his weight, his thigh muscles trying to bear the rest. The rope slid up over his metacarpals. Radek couldn't rest, he ran the risk of breaking his hand if he brought his full weight down on those delicate bones. He couldn't breathe. His vision was spotting at the sides, either from the pain or breathlessness.  
  
_Prosim! Prosim, do prdele!_  
  
The rope slid over his fingers, slid free of the branches, and Radek fell face-first onto the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of him and grayed his vision. He was lucky, because it prevented him from screaming. If surviving a plane crash was a ten, this was definitely a nine and a half.  
  
_I told you that I was done with the adventuring. No more. I am the wizard in my city now, safe while others do the adventuring._ Not that the universe or the Ancients were listening. A tale told to his siblings as a ten year-old was not an omen of the future, no matter what Eliska believed.  
  
Focus!  
  
Glasses. Once he could see, he could plan the next step. Radek couldn't quite crawl yet, so he settled for pulling himself across the ground. They'd left him by the Gate, so his glasses would be somewhere on the Gate's left.  
  
It took him a subjective eternity to find them. One lens was cracked, but they were still usable. He slid them on his nose and the world snapped into sharpness.  
  
Standing was the next order of business. Radek reached out and scrabbled at the bark of the tree next to him. It took him four tries, two of which involved heaving dryly from pain whenever he bent his left knee more than ten degrees, but he finally got to his feet. His glaive was nowhere to be seen. It had been probably taken as a trophy. Without a weapon or supplies, with a bad leg and Wraith clothes, he was as good as dead.  
  
_No, no, no. The 'we're going to die, there's no hope' talk is Rodney's job. It'll only make him worse if you start in._  
  
He needed his glaive, human clothes, rope, and food he didn't have to hunt in that order. There was an entire sleeping village full of those things not far away, and breaking and entering was his specialty.  
  
If he was as good as dead, he might as well die trying.  
  
It took him a couple of tries to figure out a gait that did not cause him to crumple face-first in the ground, then he began limping in the direction of the cart tracks.  
  
The moon was high in the sky by the time he reached the village. Movement had erased the chilled stiffness of joints and muscles, only the pain of injury remained. A few lights flickered in what he presumed was the inn. There was no night watchman that Zelenka could see. He kept to the shadows anyway, creeping in the darkness between houses. A barn provided pack, knife, rope, and thin bits of metal. The lift-latch lock on the tailor's shop was easily neutralized. Radek took three sets of clothes in roughly his size. He was managing silence but not speed, so he passed up the tailor's house entirely. He could take food easily enough from the inn's cellar.  
  
That left only his glaive. Radek crept up to the inn's windows. He'd imagined the mob had taken his weapon as a trophy and yes, there it was, hanging above the fireplace.  
  
Radek rested his forehead against the wall. _Do prdele._ He had no manner of luck at all, but he wasn't leaving without his weapon. The glaive was defense, sustenance, and the only stroke of luck he'd had so far -- hope found in a memorial to the dead. He would not find another.  
  
The crowd was celebrating, drinking deeply of something Radek hoped was potent. They were singing, laughing, and toasting their bravery. Radek bared his teeth in anger. He was every ounce the victim of the Wraith as they. He had suffered no fewer losses. They at least had each other and home. Any place and anyone he touched would be destroyed by the Wraith.  
  
Zelenka crept along wall toward the cellar. Getting into the cellar was slow going, but he filled his pack with tubers, vegetables, a bottle of wine for disinfectant, dried fruit and dried meat. He would not be working this territory again, so discretion wasn't a problem. His Wraith clothes were black, so it was tempting to keep wearing them, but all black would stand out. He changed into his stolen clothes as quickly and quietly as he could behind the stacked wine barrels. A serving girl entered, selected some fruits, and departed.  
  
Radek released his breath. She must have assumed another employee took the food.  
  
Zelenka listened carefully for movement before he left the cellar. He erased his tracks behind him with some thatching from the cellar roof as he went. It was torture on his back and shoulders, but he didn't want a curious want-to-be soldier following him. He couldn't huddle behind a barrel with his leg stiff and hiding under a mobile object was just stupid, so he settled for hiding in plain sight, removing his glasses and leaning against the wall like a drunk. _I belong here, so much so that the eye will slide right over me._ It worked. The inebriated celebrants leaving the inn paid him no heed.  
  
"Hey, Cdwen!" one of the villagers called to him as he left. Radek raised a hand without looking up. The drunk took that as enough recognition and kept shambling down the street.  
  
The moon had almost set. Radek paused by the inn's entrance, listening. He couldn't near movement. Radek put his glasses back on and slipped inside as quickly as his leg would allow him. He was moving far too slowly.  
  
The chair he lifted and carried to the fireplace was heavy. The dark liquid in the cups on the table was tempting, he was so thirsty, but if he had a head injury the last thing he needed was alcohol. The last thing he needed period was alcohol. He was barely thinking clearly as it was.  
  
Radek heard the rustle of movement in the corridor far later than he should have. Radek ducked behind the fireplace, leaning against the warm brick. He could see in the window's reflection as a servant boy entered and began to clear the cups. He would see Radek any minute now. Zelenka couldn't afford to have him crying alarm. Radek couldn't survive another beating.  
  
Zelenka pulled the knife he'd taken from its sheath. He meant the boy no harm, but the boy didn't need to know that. Zelenka crept up behind the boy with a pick-pocket's skill, grabbed a fistful of hair, and pressed the knife to his throat.  
  
"Don't," Radek hissed as menacingly as he could manage. The rasp in his voice helped. "Or you'll be dead before you hit the floor." It seemed like the sort of thing Ronon or Colonel Sheppard would say. The boy's body was shaking. Hopefully he wouldn't call Radek's bluff, or worse, realize that Zelenka's left leg was no good.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"We're going to the fireplace. Reach up and pull down the glaive." Radek pulled on the boy's hair. He used leaning on the boy's body in intimidation to mask his limp. "Now." The serving boy reached up and pulled the weapon from the mantle.  
  
"My name is Tomas, sir, and I have two sisters, little sisters--"  
  
Personalizing himself to the assailant. Smart boy.  
  
"Hush," Zelenka said. "Put the glaive on the table." Tomas followed his instructions. "Now listen. When you awake, evacuate your village. Get as many who believe you to leave and do not come back, because when the Wraith return to this place they will not cull. They will raze this village to the ground. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Well, no, sir, but I'll tell them anyway."  
  
"Good," Zelenka rasped. He pulled the knife away and brought the pommel down as hard as he could. It was barely enough to knock him unconscious. Radek leaned into the sudden dead weight. He managed to get Tomas in a chair, but that was it. Zelenka spilled a flagon of drink in Tomas's lap as cover.  
  
He nearly dropped his glaive when he tried to lift it from the table. Iron-cored had never seemed like a bad thing before.  
  
_Just to the Gate,_ Radek promised himself.  
  
The entire village must have been drunk in celebration, because getting out was easier than getting in. He paused only to carve a probably-useless message into the town's sign post.  
  
As soon as he was out of the village's sight, he straightened to use his glaive as a walking stick. With the help for his bad leg, Zelenka made decent speed to the Gate. The sun was just rising as he dialed the farthest away address he could remember. It was difficult. The Gate symbols kept trying to blur together.  
  
Radek welcomed the sweet relief of oblivion that closed around him almost the moment he was through.


	12. Day Twenty-five, Unknown Planet

Waking up was miserable. Radek was tempted to adjust his position and go back to sleep, but he'd done so twice already. The various aches and pains would have to be dealt with shortly, and if he got up he could find a more comfortable place to rest than cobblestones. He should also find water, because he was dehydrated enough that even though he hadn't had a drop of alcohol he still had the worst hangover he'd ever experienced.  
  
Radek opened his eyes and immediately closed them. The sun was up, each beam of light like a dagger to his brain. Some form of bird was squawking. That hurt, too.  
  
 _It's going to hurt a lot more if the Wraith get a hold of you. Come on, enough with the slacking, let's go, go, go, move!_  
  
Zelenka braced both hands on the cobbles and pushed upward. He dragged his knees beneath him and immediately retched as his left knee made it clear in no uncertain terms that that was not an acceptable course of action. Radek straightened his left leg and settled for rolling onto his back. He'd removed the pack the first time he'd woken. Radek cracked his eyelids, pointing his head in the general direction of the noise. There were three birds of prey on his pack. They were tearing at the leather, obviously not above scavenging.  
  
"Hey," Radek croaked. "Gerroff. Mine." The birds paid him no heed until Zelenka rolled himself one more time toward his pack. The birds scattered, winging into the trees with an ease Radek envied. Zelenka rested his forehead on the smooth, soft leather. "Ježišmarija." His first step was water. The next was first aid. He also had to get away from the raised cobblestone platform, because Gates were built for people. If this planet wasn't uninhabited, he had to make sure no one found him.  
  
At least he wasn't running around in Wraith clothes anymore. What a stupid, stupid mistake. He could have at least altered them: cut some fringes, added beads made of bone, frayed the edges of the shirt. He should have known Ronon wouldn't have adorned his long, black coat out of vanity.  
  
It took him two tries and a pair of dry-heaving spells to put on his pack and lever himself to his feet. He used his glaive as a sort of walking-stick. Zelenka had never wished more for sunglasses in his life. Colonel Sheppard's would do, preferably with Colonel Sheppard and a puddle jumper attached. Jumper Ten would be nice. He'd been sick once in her already.  
  
 _Focus._ He was lightheaded, dizzy, nauseas, his mouth was dry, and he wasn't sweating. He needed water. Zelenka was lucky he'd woken up at all, he supposed. You weren't supposed to sleep with a possible head wound.  
  
Radek paused to close his eyes for a moment at the bottom of the cobbled stairs, then began moving toward what looked like a game trail. He leaned against a tree to rest every few yards. After a while he came upon cloven tracks, then followed those until they led to a small stream.  
  
" _Zaplať pánbůh,_ " Radek breathed. The sound of water had never been so sweet. Lowering himself was easier than getting up, and while lying on his belly to drink was far from dignified, Radek was far from caring. Drinking slowly and pausing between droughts took all Radek's self-control. He held the cool water in his mouth when he did not drink, letting it absorb into the tissues of his mouth. After the knife-edge of his thirst had been removed, Zelenka rolled onto his back and then pushed himself up into a sitting position. He dragged himself and his pack over to a suspiciously willow-like tree.   
  
Radek pulled his Wraith shirt out of the pack and cut it into strips with his knife. Getting himself out of his human clothes involved much wincing and swearing. He paused for a fortifying drink of water, then dipped the black strips into the water and began scrubbing his various wounds clean. He couldn't bite back the mewling whimpers that worked their way up the back of his throat any more than he could suppress the screams when he poured wine on the clean injuries. He bandaged what he could, pulled his human clothes back on, and then leaned back against the tree. Somewhere between one thought and the other, he dozed off.  
  
Radek had no way of knowing how much time had passed when a sharp pain in his temple woke him. Radek startled, bringing his glaive up, only to see a bird flying away with a bit of his hair in its beak. One of the raptors who had been perched on his pack earlier dived at the bird. The bird dove into bushes for protection. The raptor veered left and perched on one of the willow's branches. The bird was roughly the size of a gyrfalcon, with the same white plumage flecked with black. The bird's legs and talons were black, as was its beak. Its eyes were a pale gold. Another pair of raptors flew over to perch next to the white one. Both of the new birds were dark brown flecked with black. One was larger than the white, one smaller than the white. The smallest one fluttered down to a lower perch and peered down at Radek curiously.  
  
The smallest bird let out an ear-piercing, repeating cry that ended in a long scream. It was not the cry of a red-tailed hawk as the movies always had. The bird's cry was closer to that of a a Harris hawk, the favored bird of falconers.  
  
Radek leaned sideways, careful of his left leg, and took another long drink from the creek. The headache and light-headedness were still there, but the dry-mouth hangover was gone. There was no way he'd be able to climb the Gate to hot-wire an iris like this, nor could he set his traps. Like with the first Wraith, he was going to have to rely on stealth and the warning of the forest animals.  
  
Radek dug some food out of his pack. He looked up. The Harris-gyrfalcons were still there. The littlest one fluttered down to a yet lower branch and peered at him. The other two birds, presumably his parents, looked on from their lofty perch.  
  
"When I raced pigeons, you and your kind were the enemy," Radek told them. The littlest one cocked his head. "But still, your mother did defend my honor." Radek tore off a small chunk of dried meat and threw it as far as he could ahead of him. The littlest bird dove for it instantly. Radek chewed on a telanna, a cucumber-like vegetable, while he watched the younger bird eat. He threw two more pieces of meat that were promptly devoured. The parent birds watched him, but made no move to join their young. Radek finished all of the telanna, leaving the other kinds for later. Only when he threw the last three pieces of the dried meat did the parents descend to join the feast. After a brief shrieking squabble, the father bird took two pieces leaving the mother with one.  
  
When Radek moved to take another drink from the stream, the Harris-gyrfalcons took wing.  
  
"I lost a lot of good racers to falconers and their birds," Radek told the feathered faces watching him from above. "I will not hold that against you." Zelenka carefully wedged his pack next to the tree so that the flap couldn't be opened by clever raptor beaks, then worked his way to his feet. Collecting firewood was an exhausting chore, but at last he managed enough for a decent night's heat. Then he turned his mind to the creek. A little judicious probing and several pinched fingers garnered a harvest of crayfish-like crustaceans. They were shocking blue with mottled tan spots, but they cooked well over flat stones. The bottom of the creek was covered in a long, waving cress that probably didn't have much nutritional value but made good filler. It was better than eating mud just to stop the hunger pains.  
  
Before he went to bed, Radek covered the end of a long branch in pitch, added strips of his Wraith shirt, and then added more pitch. The Wraith burned like anyone else. Radek set his makeshift torch by the fire before banking it into glowing coals.  
  
Zelenka dreamed of Atlantis, of hot coffee and bickering with Rodney, of clicking fingers and Weunche's Sara Barielles CD playing while she worked, and of Ronon throwing him around the gym _just_ gently enough not to hurt him and calling it teaching. Waking to a bed of alien detritus was a depressing shock accompanied by a sharp stab of unmistakable homesickness.  
  
Radek rolled over onto his stomach in preparation for getting up only to still when he saw the red eyes of a cat-like rabbit-looking creature staring back at him from the bushes. The thing was at least two meals even if he shared with the raptors. Radek reached slowly for his glaive, then stabbed viciously at the rabbit-cat. He missed. The rabbit-cat took off in a mad bolt for the water. Zelenka tried to twist around for another strike and hissed in agony as ribs and back complained sharply. His body locked up in complaint. The white mother raptor hit the rabbit-cat in one strike, fanning her wings to cover the prey completely. She let out a sharp, staccato cry followed by a longer scream.  
  
"You're welcome." Radek still had the faint scars across his hands and wrist from his attempt to recover the body of the first racing bird he'd lost to a falconer. He didn't need another set. Zelenka got to his feet and hobbled away from the water. The third day was always the worst where injuries were concerned, and this was no exception. He was moving like he was eighty years old. If the Wraith came right now, he was a dead man. He didn't have Ronon's thirty year-old Satedan warrior caste recovery time.  
  
Radek hoped that the Wraith weren't delaying because they were destroying the village that had beaten him. He didn't want that on his hands for a stupid, Milky Way native mistake.  
  
There wasn't much left of the rabbit-cat by the time he made it back to his little camp, mostly entrails, but the Harris-gyrfalcons didn't dive-bomb him when he collected the remains. Zelenka dug a little pit, lined the bottom with the remaining coals from his fire, wrapped the entrails and cress in the broad leaves of a nearby plant, and then buried it all. He munched on dried trevala and checked his bandages while he waited for breakfast to cook. He changed the ones that were bloody, cleaning the old ones off in the stream and scrubbing them with sand. He was tempted to disinfect them with the last of his wine, but he held that in reserve for the wounds themselves.  
  
He was glad he'd ignored Carson and Keller's advice to lay off the native foods. His tail end of his first year in Pegasus – when they'd finally garnered enough trading partners for MREs to become optional – had been a painful adjustment period and he was always the first to catch every new food-borne illness to come through the Gate, but that was worth it to have Pegasi intestinal flora. If he had been part of the majority who were content with the repetitive Terran meals and only ate native foods when there was no other option, he would be experiencing the gastrointestinal adjustment right now after nearly a month of nothing but Pegasi food. It would, Radek imagined, be much like the unpleasantness he and Ronon had experienced on their two-week vacation to Europe when the Pegasi food that made up two-thirds to three-fourths of their diet had been suddenly replaced with preservative-rich Western food.   
  
Radek didn't need that on top of everything else. Zelenka's mouth curled as he imagined the juvenile pun Sheppard would likely make about the entire situation. Rodney would be outraged, of course.  
  
"The only thing that annoys Rodney more than Sheppard's puns are his analogies," Radek told the raptors. Their nest was near the top of the willow-like tree. "Possibly because Sheppard's analogies are usually quite appropriate. I'm not certain if he objects to anything that makes science easier to understand on principle, or if he just does not like that Sheppard understands. I'm leaning toward the former, since he considers those without a strong hard science background as something little more than animals. Even those of more people-oriented hard sciences like medicine or engineering are of lesser stature in his eyes. Carson and Keller are voodoo practitioners and I am but a mechanic.  
  
"The only person he admires, of course, is Colonel Carter, who is an astrophysicist herself. She's also quite beautiful, if women are your type." Radek turned the last half of the trevala in his fingers. "Women are Rodney's type. With Colonel Carter on Atlantis, I doubt Rodney is missing me at all. He's probably made the things that I did to make his life easier part of the Chief Engineer's job description and promoted Weunche, Mizuno, or Sankaran to it.  
  
"It's a pity," he continued, not bothering to disguise the plaintiveness in his voice. "Before the great Samantha Carter showed up, Rodney and I made quite the team. We saved the city together often. We set up the power grid, you know. I did the programming, the relay map, the synchronicity, and directed bringing the generators online, but McKay found me the Ancient conduits I needed, directed laying the Earth lines, and made the signs on the naquadah generators so that they would not be touched," he clarified fondly. "It made Kavanagh furious that McKay paired with me, not even in the top eight of Engineering at the time, for the project instead of him. He was also furious with me for daring to tell McKay of my experience, but what could I do? We needed a city power grid instead of a string of extension cords and adapters, and I know more of such things than he.  
  
"Later, when the his puddle jumper was stuck in the Gate, McKay told Weir to include me on the brainstorming team, even though he could not remember my name, only my nationality. It was -- and is -- enough. I am the only one of my countrymen to come to Atlantis." Radek popped a piece of food into his mouth. He chewed slowly to make it last.   
  
Things with McKay had passed so quickly from professional rapport to friendship and then into a heady desire for everything McKay could possibly offer. Radek had courted Rodney with the thoroughness of a bird: he'd made the figurative "nest" of the Lab a comfortable and smooth-running place for Rodney; wooed him with offers of late-night food and coffee; preened in the competent performance of his duties; engaged in the elaborately ongoing courtship dance of bickering and flirtation; and he'd even done his best to chase away his rival, Colonel Carter, in a bit of romantic sabotage that had backfired in the worst possible way when Carter had responded to Radek's criticism of Rodney by defending McKay's honor.   
  
Zelenka wondered if Ronon had talked to animals before descending into his taciturn demeanor. Who knew how social Ronon had been before the Wraith had forced him into a falcon-like solitude.  
  
"Before Carter showed up, I'd actually deluded myself into thinking McKay was just deeply closeted or suppressed," Radek continued as he dug the rest of his breakfast out of the dirt. "I thought that if I just... wooed and flirted long enough, he would--" Zelenka's throat closed up. He cleared it. "When he was dying from the Ascension accelerator Rodney said I was a brilliant scientist and that I deserved better than his abuse. After we reversed the ascension accelerator I tried to talk to him about it. I... I was going to tell him that I loved him, and had for a very long time. Before I could make a complete idiot of myself, he took it all back. He said he was just making amends to rid himself of shame in preparation for ascension. I made myself believe that he wasn't ready to admit or deal with any... any unprofessional feelings. That I need only be patient, and I am a very patient man." Radek stopped. "That if nothing else, I am his friend, and that is something.  
  
"Then Carter shows up and suddenly he wants nothing to do with me. He goes to briefings alone, now, does not pull me in on the big projects unless the Wraith -- a _Wraith_ is not available -- and rarely eats lunch with me. Everything is Carter, Carter, Carter, and 'Sam, we're geniuses,' when he has never said such to me and I have been a better partner for him for four years." Radek took a bite of his breakfast. It was disgusting, but better than mud. "When I actually care for him and Carter does nothing but reject and look down because though she is nicer about it, her ego is bigger than Rodney's. Rodney, at least, can be worked with." He'd tried to work with Carter during the three hours from Hell in the transporter. He'd had better days working with Russians, with Kavanagh.  
  
Radek sighed. "Rodney will be very jealous when I return to Atlantis a surviving Runner. Carter will surely be impressed by such a thing, and oh how Rodney will hate that." Radek wanted Rodney to be impressed by such a thing, but he knew that that was not going to happen. Ronon would be impressed, though, as would the Marines. The soldiers preferred him to Rodney not only because Radek was not forever calling them Neanderthals, but because Marines knew better than to bite the hand that fixed the toilets, showers, shields, Jumpers, guns, and _cooking stoves_. Like the beloved medical staff, any Marine who messed with the engineers was in for a sharp reality check from his cohorts.  
  
The non-engineering and non-medical scientists, on the other hand... Radek sighed again. He actually missed the pranks, the occasional fisticuffs, the constant verbal pot-shots, and the ongoing alliance with Sheppard and Lorne to keep things from escalating into all-out war -- especially among the fresh meat and despite Rodney's loud-mouthed provocation. It was proof he was losing it in his middle age, he supposed, or that be it ever so crazy-making there was no place like home. Even if the crazy-making was interspersed with moments of utter terror and almost hysterical humor.  
  
Atlantis was proof that Eliska was right: some people were more comfortable living in Hell.  
  
Suddenly homesick again and exhausted, Radek buried his fire pit. He took another drink of water and curled up on his mossy patch for a nap.


	13. Day Twenty-six, Atlantis Base

Some days Rodney didn't know how he'd ever survived the four years he'd spent not talking to his sister. He wasn't even certain how he'd thought the relationship they'd had between Rodney going to college and Jeannie dropping out had been enough: calls four times a year and a couple weeks' visit during summer break. None of that could compare to being able to email his sister whenever he wanted, tell her everything he couldn't tell anyone else, or visit her whenever he could. Jeannie had the most delightful sense of humor ever, enough counseling to be even wiser than Radek, and Madison was damn cute. Rodney didn't even _like_ kids and he could clearly see that his niece was the single most adorable child to grace this Earth. Bright, too, like her mother. Maddie was going to _be_ something.  
  
Not that he would ever admit that to Jeannie. Jeannie would be after a niece or nephew of her own then, and wouldn't that be a disaster. He'd heard Radek's stories about Mirek's constant attempts to get him to "settle down with nice girl" even though Radek had no fondness for Eliska's child at all, nor had he been particularly impressed with Mirek's offspring the first and only time he'd met them. Rodney couldn't imagine the campaigns that could be launched if Jeannie thought she had a hope in Hell of succeeding. Her nagging about Katie had been bad enough. "No John Sheppard," indeed.  
  
Still, Jeannie did have the best sense of humor and enough friends to be forwarded the really good stuff on top of all the usual tripe. Rodney re-read the joke she'd sent him, an obscure piece of physics humor involving popular generalizations and a mime, and chuckled again. The main character in the caricature bore a striking resemblance to Zelenka: round glasses, fuzzy hair, and a little pot belly. The typical mad scientist, like Radek, who certainly classified as eccentric if not full-on barking.  
  
Rodney hit the Forward button.  
  
"Rzelenka@secure.atlantis.gov" he typed. He was half way through typing, "look familiar?" in the message body before he even realized what he was doing.   
  
Rodney pushed his laptop away. He felt sick, lightheaded like he was in the middle of a hypoglycemic reaction except he couldn't be because he'd just finished a whole bowl of cinnamon oatmeal and toast with icoberry jam. They were coming up on the one-month anniversary -- McKay's stomach clenched painfully -- and he was still forgetting that Zelenka was gone. It was only for a few moments at a time, usually just enough time to think, "I'll have to remember to tell Radek that," or just long enough to reach for his headset before realizing Radek was forever out of reach. Maybe Jeannie had a point about seeing Dr. Chen.   
  
Rodney had never had a hard time grasping the incapability of death before. It had always been the great universal constant.   
  
_Radek, you moron. I wasn't ready for you to die yet._ All the possibilities of "with Radek" were gone, wiped away before Rodney could even know what they were. It shouldn't be disturbing him this much. He shouldn't have an aching emptiness inside he could only assuage by forgetting it was there. Not even Collins, the victim of a far greater mistake than simply sending Radek on a recon mission instead of going himself, had hurt this much for this long.  
  
Rodney cleared the email and began typing a new address, lschen@secure.atlantis.gov. Dr. Luke Chen wasn't Dr. Heightmeyer, but he would have to do   
~*~  
  
"The science department is going to be at half-capacity if this keeps up much longer. We can barely hire people fast enough to keep up with the transfer requests," Colonel Samantha Carter said, hobbling toward a table in the Mess Hall. Colonel Sheppard walked beside her, stiffly carrying her tray and his.   
  
"You know," Carter continued, "Rodney was a different person completely when we regained contact with Atlantis then when we shipped him off. Don't get me wrong, he still had only rudimentary social skills and no idea what the word 'humility' meant, but he wasn't as... I don't know. Whiny and self-serving. The Atlantis McKay would never have given up on Teal'c like the old McKay did. He was even managing to run an entire department with minimal turnover, which, to be frank, shocked me. Now-- Now it's like we're back to the old McKay again except with field skills. I don't understand it. He's ordered people to their deaths before and never taken it this hard for this long."  
  
"Um, yeah, I suppose," Sheppard said awkwardly. McKay had blown up a solar system over Collins.  
  
Sheppard set Carter's tray on the table and placed his own across from her. He'd rather be having this conversation in her office. Sheppard supposed the casual setting was supposed to put him at ease, as if he hadn't been around the block enough to know what was happening. Carter was trying to determine if she should order a psych-eval for Rodney and she was probing Sheppard for information. Sheppard was both Rodney's best friend and -- unlike Teyla and Ronon -- bound by USAF regulations. He couldn't just say, "Radek's _dead_. How did you _expect_ Rodney to react?" and walk away.  
  
"I mean, Rodney didn't even like Zelenka," Carter said offhandedly, propping her crutches against the edge of the table. "He was tickled pink when he found out I didn't like him, either."  
  
"Huh?" Sheppard asked. "Rodney was-- You didn't like Zelenka?" Everyone -- except Kavanagh, which was actually understandable -- had liked Zelenka and Rodney had been his best friend. Carter had seemed to be good with people in all the ways Rodney wasn't. Sheppard couldn't imagine what had given her the impression Rodney had disliked Zelenka, much less that he would be happy she didn't.   
  
"Well, I'm sure he was a good person," Carter hedged. Sheppard raised his eyebrows. Carter fiddled with the fruit cup on her tray. Finally she confessed, "he didn't have much of a sense of humor. And his eyes were creepy -- not that he could have helped that, of course -- but... I guess the stuff about him and Weir just didn't surprise me that much."  
  
"Him and Weir?" Sheppard asked carefully. Radek had been one of Elizabeth's favorite minions, but Sheppard didn't think that was what Carter was talking about. He doubted Weir would have left anything disparaging anyone but Kavanagh and the IOA in her logs.  
  
"You know, the stalker-like crush, staring at her chest instead of her face when he talked to her," Carter said with an uncomfortable shrug. "McKay told me."  
  
"And you believed him?" Sheppard snapped as nine months of not-quite-right snapped into abrupt focus. _Shit, Rodney, you possessive little--_   
  
"Well, I never caught him doing it to me, no," Carter said. "But then he didn't come to briefings after I took over."  
  
"Because McKay stopped taking him along!" Sheppard snapped. Rodney deserved Radek, he really did. John couldn't believe he hadn't noticed sooner. "Look, all the stuff about Weir and everything he said about Zelenka being incompetent -- Rodney made it up."   
  
Rodney hadn't wanted Zelenka to like the famed Samantha Carter better than him, nor for Sam Carter to prefer Zelenka over Rodney. McKay had even had nightmares about it. Keeping the two apart and telling Carter Zelenka was a pervert must have been a way to ensure Carter's dismissive dislike. Carter's fame would have made it impossible for Rodney to tell similar lies to Radek, of course, but a few "out of your leagues" from McKay and Carter's sudden and complete disregard for Radek's abilities would have looked a lot like classist snobbery.   
  
Chocolate and peanut butter: an instant feud that would have kept McKay in the "favorite" slot with both of them. Rodney could be surprisingly manipulative during a fit of jealousy, and he was possessive of no one else like he'd been with Radek. McKay had kept Zelenka's social life to a minimum and his vacations non-existent with special projects and an erratic schedule, sabotaged any recruiter's attempt to meet with Zelenka, and those Rodney had caught making passes at Radek had either been transferred out or bullied into leaving.   
  
Rodney hadn't wanted Radek for himself, but he hadn't wanted anyone else to have Zelenka while he was dinking around in the closet, either. It wasn't fair or even kind, but Zelenka had always tolerated it. Sheppard had never seen a reason to get involved. Now John wished he'd just conned Rodney into laying one on ol' Zippy and saved them all the trouble.   
  
"So Rodney really--" Carter said, eyes wide with the realization of how she'd been duped. Carter looked a lot like Radek -- wide cheekbones, straight nose, strong chin, about the same height, and big, bright blue eyes -- which should have been her first clue. If she'd believed McKay telling her he didn't like Zelenka, though, she'd probably believed he was straight.   
  
This whole situation was fubar, way out of his league to fix, and probably out of Jeannie's, too.  
  
Sheppard fiddled with his fork. "It's kind of a Higgins-Dolittle situation, except instead of flowers and singing there's life-sucking aliens and swearing in Czech," he said awkwardly.  
  
Carter stared at him.


	14. Day Thirty-one, Unknown Planet

"I don't want to get my hopes up," Radek told the raptors as he cooked his share of the almost-rabbit, "but I think I might actually survive this." His left leg was supporting his weight again. He still couldn't run very fast for very far nor could he climb the Stargate, but he was no longer a sitting duck. Most of his cuts had healed and his bruises had faded to an ugly yellow stain. Zelenka was physically ready to leave the planet.  
  
Mentally, he was reluctant. He'd worked out a very functional alliance with the Harris-gyrfalcons that he was loathe to lose. The social birds had very quickly come to the conclusion that Radek was a far better flusher than they were as well as being capable of taking larger game, so they'd cut a deal. When Radek flushed flocks of small birds or whole warrens of almost-rabbits, the Harris-gyrfalcons didn't try to stop him from claiming a share. When Radek killed something they could not, like the small dik-diks, Zelenka shared his kill with the raptors. Zelenka had refused to name the birds in an effort to keep from becoming attached, an effort that had steadfastly failed.  
  
He knew he could not take the birds with him. Even if he could somehow convince the wild birds to follow him through the Stargate, introducing a breeding pair of an alien birds to a new planet was an ecologically moronic thing to do.  
  
It was petty, but Radek was going to hold the loss of his flock against the Wraith. It was bad enough they had cost him Atlantis, but they were going to cost him his new feathered friends as well. Zelenka hadn't had birds since he'd left Prague four years ago. He'd forgotten how much he missed them, even if the shrill cries of the raptors was nothing like the steady cooing of pigeons.  
  
The littlest raptor beat his wings from his perch on the log across from Zelenka. The parent birds refused to get any closer than four feet if they weren't feeding, but the littlest bird had twice allowed Zelenka to stroke the soft feathers of his breast even if he still refused to perch on Radek outright. The littlest raptor had also developed a definite taste for cooked meat.  
  
"It's cooking." Radek had a fire burning beneath a large, flat stone. It was a primitive grill, but it was getting the job done.  
  
The parent birds cried sharp alarm a scant few seconds before Radek heard the buzz of the dart.  
  
"Ah, as Sheppard would say, show time," Radek said. He threw dirt on the fire and grabbed his glaive. The littlest bird took the cooking meat and flew to the top of the willow.   
  
"Ingrate."   
  
Radek had kept himself perennially packed in preparation for this moment. He secured his pack on his shoulders. With all the stolen food consumed, the pack was much lighter than it had been. He'd filled the wine bottle with water and re-corked it. It was wrapped in the spare set of bandaging and his Wraith pants. There was no rope in the pack, either. He'd used it all laying the woods surrounding his camp with snares. Zelenka highly doubted he'd be able to manage even a one-on-one fight if his opponent wasn't hung upside-down by the ankle. He wasn't Ronon Dex. He wasn't even Rodney McKay.  
  
He was just Radek Zelenka. Zelenka slithered into his hiding place, a thicket made of bushes he'd braided together. He could see most of his traps from here. He could hear the rest. He also had a clear run to the Stargate from the spot. His leg had managed to get to the DHD before giving out on all his test runs. He just had to hope the trees obscured the Wraith aim long enough for him to get there.  
  
It wasn't his best plan, it wasn't even in the top fifteen. Radek sincerely hoped only one Wraith would be beamed down. If there were any guards at the Gate, he was screwed.  
  
The dart flew overhead. Five Wraith, four guards and a leader, beamed down right in the middle of his camp.  
  
Radek's stomach dropped and panic clawed at his throat like a hysterical cat. _Do prdele._ The Wraith had to be pissed or else they'd decided he was Lantean. Either way-- He couldn't take on five Wraith right then. He couldn't take on five Wraith single-handedly _ever_ \-- he was only an engineer for Christ's sake! Running for it would be suicide. His path to the Gate was intentionally clear of snares he couldn't jump with his damn left leg.  
  
 _Well,_ he could practically hear Rodney say, _serves you right for getting so optimistic._   
  
The Wraith were looking around his camp. The leader pointed at Radek's thicket. The Wraith began moving in his direction, combing the ground for snares.  
  
What would Colonel Sheppard do?  
  
Bad choice. Colonel Sheppard would take on five Wraith with a bad leg and still, somehow, come out on top despite the face he was no more Ronon Dex than Radek was.  
  
What would Rodney do?  
  
Radek slid from his hiding place and bolted towards the Gate. He ducked behind trees as much as he could, the Wraith stunners firing behind him. He could hear the Wraith giving chase and closing in. He was moving too slowly, far too slowly. He was a dead man.  
  
 _Ježiši, Ježiši, Ježišmarija!_  
  
A shattering, piercing cry filled the air. A stunner blast clipped his leg -- his good leg, damn it -- and Radek hit the ground with enough force to wind him. His glaive left his hands. Zelenka rolled onto his side, trying to heave air into his lungs. His diaphragm wasn't listening. The Wraith shot hadn't landed square, but his right leg was numb weight. He could feel his left leg, though, every ounce of pained complaint.  
  
The Wraith were firing wildly into the air, accompanied by fierce raptor screaming. There was the sound of thrashing in the underbrush and heavy bodies hitting the ground, more raptor cries, and then silence punctuated only by a low, trilling avian cry.  
  
Zelenka managed to pull air into his lungs and push the tall grasses aside. There was no movement. Zelenka laid helplessly still, waiting for the feeling to return. The low trilling continued. Once he could stand, Radek found his glaive and got to his feet. He hobbled over to where the Wraith had been. All of them were dead. Each Wraith sported long gashes from raptor talons. Radek took the lead Wraith's receiver and his stunner pistol.  
  
The mother and father birds were lying on the ground nearby, necks twisted at an unnatural angle. The Wraith must have stunned them and then stomped on them. The littlest bird was making the trilling cry. His right wing hung limp.   
  
Radek had dealt with wounded birds before. He knew how to soothe, to check for broken wing bones, and how to ready the bird for transport. None of the littlest raptor's bones were broken, though many of the flight feathers were trashed. The raptor would be grounded like a pet-shop parrot until the feathers grew back. Leaving him alone would be a death sentence. Besides, Zelenka was really all the flock the Harris-gyrfalcon had left.  
  
"You saved my life, I save yours," Radek told the bird. "But do not tell my pigeons. Not that they are mine now anymore, Antonin has had them for four years now, so I will settle for merely do not tell my fellow pigeon racers I have switched to falconry. There are some shames that cannot be forgiven." Radek covered the raptor's eyes with a makeshift hood. The bulk of one leg of his Wraith pants was sacrificed to make a gauntlet-wrapping that would take the place of a proper glove. Zelenka carefully rested his arm beneath the raptor's breastbone. He waited for the raptor to adjust, then slowly picked the bird up in increments. The bird flailed around with his unbound wing and scratched at the gauntlet-wrap until Radek had the bird safely cradled against his body. Then the bird quieted, occasionally lashing out with his wing as walking shifted his balance.  
  
"The numbness should wear off in a few hours," Zelenka told the bird in a soothing voice. "Then you'll be able to be carried properly."  
  
By the time he reached the Gate Radek had named his companion Lachesis.


	15. Day Thirty-five, Atlantis Base

Rodney wondered if they taught psychiatrists that open, patient face in psychiatrist school, because the expression on Dr. Luke Chen's face was eerily similar to the one Kate Hightmeyer had always worn. Rodney had liked Kate, he supposed. He'd certainly trusted her. Kate had been one of them, one of the first two hundred through the Gate. Now she was gone. There were only fifty of that first two hundred left. Some had been lost to death, some to incapacitation, and some had simply had enough and went home. Dr. Chen wasn't even from the first load off the _Daedalus_. He'd only arrived after Kate's death earlier in the year. He knew he had big shoes to fill, which helped, and he was an SGC veteran of three years. That helped, too.  
  
"So how do I fix this?" Rodney demanded after he'd listed the symptoms of his grief. For a moment, Dr. Chen didn't say anything.  
  
"Our emotions aren't problems to be fixed, Dr. McKay," Dr. Chen said finally. "They simply are. We can embrace them, use them to learn about ourselves and others, and express them in healthy ways. We can also suppress them, deny them, and allow them to find their own expression in unhealthy ways if we choose. You are fond of saying that the brain is a computer, and in many ways that's true. Our brains become used to the input of the world around us: people, objects, pets. The more that input happens, the more our brains become accustomed to it. Grief is our minds' way of adjusting to the loss of that familiar input. Forgetting a loved one is gone is a perfectly natural, normal part of grieving."  
  
"Zelenka was not a loved one," McKay denied flatly. "He was a colleague, the B-team replacement in case something happened to me."  
  
"Really?" Dr. Chen said evenly, tilting his head.  
  
"Yes," Rodney maintained, tilting his jaw in the way John said made it a perfect target for an uppercut. "He pulled a John Sheppard stunt off-world and got himself killed on a mission I ordered him on because I didn't want to go."  
  
"Why did you feel comfortable sending Dr. Zelenka to examine the Ancient lab on Tahli? Surely that was too important a task for a member of the 'B-team.'"  
  
"I thought it was probably a dead geothermal research facility," Rodney said viciously, as if the empty place in his chest wasn't there. "Not even Zelenka can screw that up." The place had turned out to be a lab dedicated to researching a rain forest that hadn't existed for ten thousand years. Parrish was having orgasms with Tahli data. The man wasn't a real scientist any more than the anthropologists were. The engineers were just glorified mechanics, but at least they contributed something to humanity even if that something wasn't as crucial as physics of any kind. Zelenka's self-taught astrophysics at least made him more useful than the everyday minion, though he was no Sam Carter.  
  
Even so, it wasn't the fresh-from-college-level astrophysics Rodney missed. It was the way he soothed ruffled soldier feathers, did the bulk of the Science Division's paperwork without complaint, and corralled the minions with a combination of empathy, deviousness, and sheer force of personality. It was the way he always knew when Rodney was hungry or sad or even desperately in need of a good neck rub -- almost as if he could read Rodney's mind -- and the way Radek was always there to fill those needs. It was the way Radek had Rodney's back even when others had given up on him but somehow never crossed the line into becoming a spineless sycophant.  
  
McKay occupied more of Radek's attention than anything or anyone else in Atlantis. He had occupied more of Radek's attention than Rodney had occupied his own parents'.  
  
Rodney told Dr. Chen the same. He finished with, "he's ruined me for other aides, that's all."  
  
"It sounds to me that you were much more than a boss to Dr. Zelenka," Dr. Chen said.  
  
"Maybe," Rodney said defensively. "Or maybe he just realized my brilliance was worth the special attention." Like the CIA operative who had rescued him from his father's constant reminders he'd been the result of failed birth control and from the way his mother had never hid the fact they'd always wanted a daughter, and like Colonel Simmons who'd recruited him for Area 51, Rodney didn't say.  
  
"Perhaps." Dr. Chen leaned back in his chair. Rodney didn't have any illusions it wasn't a calculated pose. "Let us imagine for a moment that Dr. Zelenka did not love you for your mind, but for your soul. How does that make you feel?"  
  
Oh God. Rodney's stomach clenched along with everything else. Zelenka not looking after him like he was some finicky but essential piece of equipment or humoring him because the galaxy needed his brilliance, but out of affection, even love. The idea of being preferred over Carter and everyone else in Atlantis was attractive all its own, but to occupy first place in Radek's affections was--  
  
Was making Rodney want in ways he didn't want to contemplate. He wasn't gay, no matter what his father had said he'd become.  
  
"How does that make you feel, Dr. McKay?"  
  
"I'm not sure," McKay lied.  
  
"Flattered? Happy? Joyful? Content? Scared?"  
  
"Nervous," McKay settled on. "I mean, as a friend sure, that would be great. But, uh, Radek always struck me as kinda, um, queerish? Not full on flaming, of course, this is a military base, but, uh... A little-- I mean, that 'European sophistication' can come across a little... bent."  
  
"Dr. Zelenka did not seem to me to be a metrosexual type," Dr. Chen said with amusement. "Not that he was one of my patients."  
  
"No," Rodney said, an edge of loss he couldn't suppress attached to the shared amusement. "Radek didn't have a vain bone in his body." As long as he was clean, in Radek's eyes, he was presentable. On the other hand, with a five o'clock shadow that made its appearance at ten AM, thinning flyaway hair just curly enough to be unmanageable, and a body softening under the weight of middle age, Radek didn't really have much choice. Rodney imagined Radek must have been beautiful in the blush of youth: wide cheekbones and mouth, sharp gray eyes, strong profile, and a body tight from agricultural labor and military drills.  
  
"It was the little things, though," Rodney said. "The way he held his hands, asking Keller what shampoo she used, the way women's advances just sort of... I mean, he and Teyla ran Atlantis together during the month or so we were away right after the first siege and nothing happened. He had _Carter_ in a transport tube for three hours and nothing." Not that Carter would have gone along with it. McKay was her _favorite_ and nothing was going to happen even with him. Not everyone could be Jack O'Neill, Rodney supposed.   
  
"He pinged your gaydar," Dr. Chen said.  
  
"I. Do not have gaydar," Rodney denied flatly.  
  
"Gaydar doesn't require a shared preference, Dr. McKay," Dr. Chen said gently. "Only powers of observation. Does the idea of Dr. Zelenka being in love with you make you uncomfortable?"  
  
"Of course," Rodney said primly, lowering his eyes and flicking a non-existent speck off his knee. "I'm straight. An unrequited romance would have ruined everything."  
  
"I see," Dr. Chen said.  
  
"What?" McKay demanded. He knew that deliberately not-judgmental tone psychiatrists used. "I'm not. I caught mono from April Bingham, I was with Teresa Geldar in college, and then there was Katie, and I had a drink with Keller. I've had a torch burning for Sam Carter for years. I am not gay, in every definition of the word. Mmm."  
  
"No one is accusing you of Pollyanna optimism, Dr. McKay," Dr. Chen said dryly. McKay huffed. "Still, would you at least say that Dr. Zelenka was a friend?"  
  
"I guess," McKay admitted reluctantly.  
  
Dr. Chen paused, then pulled a white envelope out of his desk drawer.  
  
"Dr. Weunche fished this out of the trash," Dr. Chen said. The addresses on its face were written in an even, swirly script. "She gave it to me in case you ever came to see me. I think you should read it." It was the letter from Eliska that had arrived on the first mail run after the funeral. McKay had thrown it away unopened.  
  
"There's nothing in there I want to read." He didn't need Eliska's sympathy, nor any beyond-the-grave confessions she might make on Radek's behalf.  
  
"You may not want to hear it, but you have to." Rodney's firm look didn't waver, so Dr. Chen switched tracks. "If nothing else, you owe it to his survivors to hear what they have to say."  
  
There wasn't really much Rodney could say to argue with that. Just because Mrs. Zelenka and Mirek had taken their pounds of flesh didn't mean Radek's sister wasn't entitled to her own piece no matter how unintentional it might be.  
  
He took the letter and left Dr. Chen's office for the sanctity of his quarters. Radek's hand-carved wooden chess board was still sitting in pride of place on his desk, the pieces aligned for a game that would never happen. Rodney slit the fine envelope open. The paper inside was a flowery purple stationary: lupine and daisies.  
  
 _Dr. McKay,  
  
I did not have the chance to speak with you after your visit to our family. To be frank, even if I had had the time I did not have the composure. But in the coolness of clear thought, I feel I do owe you something of an explanation.  
  
After the plane crash, Radek wasn't the same. It wasn't just the sleepless nights and the nightmares and the flashbacks, the way he flinched at any sudden noise and his attention span narrowed down to just a fraction of what it had been all his life. It wasn't the way he wouldn't tell us what he was doing on that plane or the way his brilliance was dulled to the point that a menial job at the Prague power company was the very upwards edge of what he could manage. Ganya said those things were because Radek was like a horse who'd been trapped in a burning barn and now couldn't stop associating everything in a barn including barns themselves with death._  
  
Rodney had no idea who Ganya was. Zelenka had never mentioned him nor that he'd been in a plane wreck. McKay imagined Ganya had been some sort of therapist. Radek was certainly familiar enough with dealing with post-traumatic stress to have been treated for it himself before.  
  
 _Ganya said that with enough patience and a handler worth trying for, even the most damaged horse could be gentled if the wound was fresh. He felt Radek was the same. He was right. The flashbacks and the nightmares faded, he started sleeping at night, and his intelligence came back to him. He went from billing to technician, and then from technician to district overseer in eight years because Radek was just that smart and great with people. He still hated loud noises and he still had panic attacks on airplanes, but Ganya and his pigeons had made Radek functional again.  
  
Functional, but not happy. Radek had had to make a deal with the Devil to see that my brother, mother, and I had enough to eat after Father died and though Svoboda himself was gone after the Revolution, the ghost of the KSČ was still there. Radek was never suicidal, but he made plans for the future only because if he did not he wouldn't be able to live up to his self-imposed obligation to provide for us.   
  
Mirek tried to help, setting Radek up with this woman and that because he felt that a good woman would snap Radek out of the almost undead numbness he was in. Ilana was the most persistent. Radek dated her because he could not get rid of her and proposed to her because Mirek told him that after three years he had no choice but to marry her or break up with her and it wasn't like Radek was going to find better. I could have slapped Mirek silly, but Ilana really seemed to love my brother. Radek cared for her even if he was not in love.  
  
Then two Americans came and talked to my brother on the train because he would not consent to be alone with them in his office. They convinced my brother -- Radek -- to get on a plane doped on the last of an old prescription for pain medication and fly to some godforsaken U.S. military base. We couldn't believe it.  
  
I don't know what you showed him, Dr. McKay. All I know is that when Radek returned he set his affairs in order, called off the wedding, and told us he was leaving on some international expedition and might not return. He said it was the chance of thirty lifetimes, that it was everything he had wanted since he was a boy, and I knew he was serious because he he gave up his entire flock and that ratty apartment to go.   
  
For a year we heard nothing. We thought he had died, or worse.  
  
Then we received a video message, one for each of us, short and ambiguous but happy and a letters afterward delivered in a box with a USAF APO once every two months. CDs of ethnic music, strange teas, odd little statues, and beautiful handwoven cloths, and more importantly, plans. Chess tournaments next week and a wedding the day after that, a joining ceremony, a new archaeological dig opened up, victories over the enemy he couldn't tell us about other than that he was proud of those he worked with, and a day volunteering at the nursery that ended in a new appreciation for Petr because at least Petr never braided grass in his hair and covered him in paint. He played pranks and shared jokes and told us that after four years you had started talking to your sister again.  
  
Radek didn't plan to die while he was at your base, Dr. McKay. He looked forward to tomorrow. I know you were the best friend he's ever had because he told me so, and I know that he loved you very much.  
  
So don't pay Mirek any heed, Dr. McKay, and don't you dare feel guilty because though tomorrow stopped coming far sooner for Radek than it would have if he'd stayed home, I'm still glad he went because when he was with you, wherever you are, he was happy.   
  
Best wishes,  
Eliska Bednarova_  
  
There was a photo in the envelope with the letter. Everyone was smiling: Radek's mother, his siblings and in-laws, his nieces and nephews, and half-crouched in the corner, Radek himself. Rodney placed the photo in the center of the chess board like the crown jewel of a shrine, the letter beneath it like an offering.  
  
Then his control shattered as it hadn't since he was a child, sobs of grief and screams of anger, and underneath it all the emptiness of not being able to lie to himself any more.


	16. Day Thirty-nine, Unknown Planet

When Radek made it back to Atlantis, he was having this planet named Lucky Strike.  
  
It had fossil fuels. Honest-to-God flammable fossil fuels: a field of tarpits that stretched as far as Radek could see, and several more between the field and the gate. There were well-travelled paths around the pits and even some primitive safety rails, so clearly some culture or several cultures were harvesting the bitumen. It made sense. None of the planets investigated by the Daedalus had turned up anything like the crude oil and coal deposits of Earth, and precious few of the Milky Way planets had such deposits. Space would not be the solution to Earth's fossil-fuel dependency: non-Earth cultures used plant-based fuel, or environmental fuels if their technological development was high enough.  
  
Radek laid a trail obvious to see – but not so obvious as to appear deliberate – from the Gate to the smallest of the pits he'd found at the edge of the trees. He carefully covered the pit with leaves and debris, even an uprooted bush. Radek had also strewn forest debris over the grass, making it look like the forest's ground cover naturally extended in clumps and spurts. He'd used a branch to leave a false trail through the leaves and into the field. Then Radek had carefully harvested bitumen to lay a thin trail of it toward a small gully some distance from the pit. He'd then made a small fire pit with a minute fire inside the gully, too small even to cook with. Cooking and heat weren't the point.   
  
His campfire had been inside the woods, just within hearing distance of the Gate. His leg was still stiff and painful, but he could run. He also had the Wraith receiver. He spent as much time with it as he could, using his stolen knife and small slips of metal as makeshift tools. He didn't have a second receiver to test with to be sure, but he knew enough about Wraith tech to know he wasn't even close to turning it into a jammer.  
  
Lachesis still couldn't fly. Radek had tried leashing him with exceptionally loud, disastrous results. He'd had no choice but to let the bird wander freely. Lachesis kept close to the campsite, flapping his useless wings now and then as he walked. The species was apparently territorial enough not to run away, or else he truly had bonded with Radek. If that was true, the breed was more likely feral than wild.   
  
When he wasn't working on the receiver, Radek worked on the "come" command with Lachesis. Having to throw his coat like a net to catch the bird was getting old quickly for both of them. Once Lachesis's flight feathers grew back, catching him would cease to be an option. He was fortunate that Lachesis was venomous only to the Wraith – the scratches Radek had sustained before seeing their effect on the Wraith had done him no harm.  
  
Radek had just returned from feeding the small gully fire when he heard the _ch-unk_ of a chevron locking. Radek threw the pile of dirt from digging his fire pit over his campfire. Then he grabbed up his glaive and ran as quietly and quickly as he could manage toward the gully. Once there, he laid inside, barely out of sight of the tar pit.  
  
Radek waited, his heart pounding. He concentrated on quieting his breathing. In one hand he held the small stick wrapped in some of his old bandages and dipped in bitumen. It was possible this was just a group of humans coming to gather bitumen. He'd avoided four such groups already: three Genii parties and one culture whose dress he didn't recognize. Radek didn't think it was. There was a chill in the air that didn't come from humans.  
  
Radek heard the Wraith's distinctive gait. He risked a glance over the top of his gully. There were five of them, four drones and a leader. They were following his false trail and his locater beacon right toward the pit.   
  
The lead Wraith halted and sniffed the air. He gestured his drones forward. They advanced abreast of each other, becoming mired in the tar almost instantly. The leader snarled as his drones thrashed in the sticky bitumen, succeeding only in entrenching themselves more deeply.   
  
With the leader so distracted, Radek held his miniature torch in the fire. It caught almost instantly. He used it as a match to light the line of bitumen leading toward the pit. The fire raced along the fuel before eagerly consuming the entire surface of the pit... and lighting the drones afire. The drones bellowed and screeched, writhing in agony. The leader had jumped away as soon as he'd seen the fire racing along the grass. Now he roared, following the burning trail towards the gully, firing as he ran. The Wraith's shots landed in the dirt or over Radek's head. They probably weren't intended to land, just keep Radek under cover until the Wraith could pounce on him and end this personally.   
  
Radek had planned on all the Wraith being caught in his trap, but he wasn't unprepared for this. He hefted his stunner and fired from behind his cover. It took three direct hits to down the Wraith. His stunner had to be losing power.  
  
 _No matter,_ Radek thought. There was a new one easily enough to hand. The burning Wraith had dropped their weapons into the tar. Radek left his gully and walked over to the lead Wraith. He used his glaive to behead the creature, then exchanged his drained stunner for the fresh one and took the Wraith's receiver from his wrist. He turned to leave, then turned back.   
  
It was morbid, but there might be one more use for the dead Wraith. _Hesitation kills,_ Radek reminded himself. Then he quickly used his knife to cut long strips of flesh from the Wraith's arm. The drones were still screaming, but they were done flailing. They were too deeply mired in the burning tar. Radek swept the leaves between the woods and the pit completely aside with a branch. There was no reason to set the whole forest ablaze.  
  
Radek used the Wraith's flesh to lure Lachesis out of hiding. The raptor eagerly devoured the black meat. Radek nearly gagged at the sickly-sweet and copper smell combined with the smell of burning flesh that permeated the breeze.  
  
"This," Radek told the bird gravely, "is food." He wanted Lachesis to have a reason other than defense – which could also be accomplished by flying away – to use his talons the Wraith. He fed his bird half, then stowed the other half wrapped in his pack. He covered the traces of his campsite, packed up his bag and his bird, and headed for the Gate. The Wraith had finally stopped screaming.  
  
He told himself that part of his satisfaction stemmed from compassion that they weren't in pain anymore, not just from the fact this was his first Wraith kill where he'd had an indisputable upper hand.


	17. Day Forty-three, Atlantis Base

Ronon didn't understand Sheppard's logic: if Teyla couldn't talk McKay out of it, if Sheppard couldn't, if Carter couldn't, and if even that half-baked mind-healer of theirs couldn't, then by the Elders themselves, why would _Ronon_ be able to? McKay was in a well of grief, what the Terrans called a depression. McKay would stay this way – sleeping too much, unable to concentrate even with coffee, without fresh ideas, and not wanting anything fun – until he wanted to move past the well. A mind healer could help that change happen more quickly. A soldier could not. You couldn't beat the spark of life into someone.  
  
Ronon was a soldier. He was a soldier whose commander had given him an order.  
  
Radek had been very fond of the Terran game of chess. He'd tried to teach Ronon. Ronon had learned the rules out of loyalty, but the game itself had been too slow-moving to hold his attention long. McKay liked it, Ronon remembered, even if he'd disliked losing too much to play against Radek often.  
  
Ronon set the chessboard in front of McKay. McKay was sitting in the Mess Hall, alone at a four-seater table, staring out the window at the waves. He wasn't seeing them anymore than he was seeing his empty plate or untouched water.  
  
"You miss him. I miss him," Ronon stated. "We played this with him. We should play it together." Radek didn't have a sword, shield, or gun to pass along for a comrade's use. Radek's tablet had been wiped and returned to general stores. This was the closest thing Ronon could come up with.  
  
"We're not interchangeable," McKay snapped. He stood up. His intent to leave the table was telegraphed with every muscle.  
  
Ronon grabbed his arm.  
  
"I'm trying to help."  
  
"You can't," McKay spat viciously. McKay jerked his arm and Ronon released him.  
  
Sheppard was sitting across the Mess Hall, near the food table. Ronon glanced after McKay, then shrugged at Sheppard. Sheppard's face crinkled with worry.  
  
Ronon looked down at the public-use board.  
  
"Wish you were here," he grunted, knowing there was no soul between lives to hear him and wishing there was. "Handling him was your thing. You'd know what to do."


	18. Day Forty-five, New Tarana

Trying to convert his receiver with a knife and metal scraps was pointless. The work he was trying to do was just too fine. Radek needed a real toolkit, and unfortunately all of the places to get a Lantean toolkit also had human populations. Any Ancient ruins large enough to warrant a full scientific expedition usually came with a civilization that had sprung up nearby taking emotional security from living close by a "city of the Ancestors," and those that didn't were quickly gutted of anything of significant value.  
  
Radek couldn't risk bringing the Wraith down on innocent Pegasi just to get a toolkit anymore than he could risk it long enough to contact Atlantis.  
  
There was, however, one planet that had abandoned Lantean tools and didn't have a native population. At least, not a native population the Wraith had any interest in.  
  
Radek had sent engineering crews to New Tarana often, both to retrofit the ill-fated _Orion_ and to teach them technologies that would better their lives without attracting Wraith attention. He also knew that Michael had exterminated the Taranans building hybrid guard-dogs. The Daedalus' scan right after the incident with Michael had revealed no hybrids, but anything could have happened between now and then.  
  
Radek took deep breaths, staring at the DHD. The Wraith he could beat (and oh, how bizarre to be thinking that to himself), but super-Wraith... or worse, Michael... that was a different story. But he needed a toolkit, and the abandoned Taranan settlement was his best bet to find one. The search teams would have been too skittish to do a complete salvage and no one had been back since, only a few fly-by scans by the Daedalus.  
  
He couldn't take all of his gear. Speed would be imperative if he did run into trouble. Radek had stashed his gear tied between two trees. He hated leaving Lachesis behind, but the harris-gyrfalcon had recovered enough flight capability to make chicken-like spurts. It wasn't total defense, but it would have to be enough. He'd left a Wraith corpse nearby. Most animals found Wraith flesh unpalatable, so it was unlikely his bird's food supply would be disturbed. Any human interlopers also would be likely repelled by a dead Wraith.  
  
All that was left was going. Radek took another breath, his stomach churning and legs numb. His heart was racing.  
  
He began to dial New Tarana.  
  
He went through the Gate slowly, his left hand gripping his glaive like a lifeline. Radek paused, listening, as soon as he crossed the event horizon. There was no sound but the forest life.  
  
If Michael had re-established a base here, Radek would already have shown on any life detection technology Michael might possess. Rushing in would do no good. He went slowly instead, listening carefully for any hint of foul play.  
  
He made it to the abandoned village late in the afternoon. He'd never been to New Tarana himself. He had no idea which buildings the Atlantis teams had occupied. He settled for a clockwise grid search, treating the village like a maze, taking everything on his left. He'd searched almost all of the village before he found what he needed, buried under an upended table. It wasn't a full toolkit, only a small plastic case containing a jewelers screwdriver set that was missing several screwdrivers. Not ideal, but still miles above what he had.  
  
And it was getting dark. As tempting as it was to look for more, he needed to be getting back to the Gate.  
  
Radek shoved the set into the pocket of his Wraith-coat (since decorated after his Wraith Worshipper debacle) and headed out. His heart was still fluttering, his nerves on edge. Michael either wasn't here or wasn't interested in a lone scavenger in the village, but there was still the possibility of a nasty leftover.  
  
Radek wasn't nearly as slow leaving as he'd been entering, heading for the Gate as quickly as he could. He was most of the way there when he heard it: heavy footsteps on the ground – too heavy for a deer-like creature – and the breaking of a branch. Radek heard a whispering, flutter-like sound.  
  
Like insect wings.  
  
Radek bolted. He headed for the Gate, sacrificing a zig-zag pattern for pure speed. He couldn't tell if the noise-maker was chasing him, and he certainly wasn't stopping to find out.  
  
He reached the Gate just as his legs were starting to give out. Radek punched in the address for the planet he'd left his gear on and threw himself through the event horizon.


	19. Day Fifty, Drenei Homeworld

The Drenei weren't allies of Atlantis. They were, however, trading partners with the Sifa, who were trading partners with the Belkans, who knew of the Athosians' alliance with Atlantis. When the Drenei had disappeared, the request to check in on them had filtered through the grapevine and Carter had dispatched SGA-1.   
  
When the team – minus Teyla, who was still on enforced maternity leave – arrived at the Drenei village, they realized the reason for the disappearance immediately.  
  
"Wraith," Ronon stated. The pattern of weapons' fire and destruction was obvious. Everyone in Pegasus knew a retaliation-kill when they saw one.  
  
"Wonder what they did to set it off," Sheppard mused. "Too much technology, Wraith Worshipper found some black-market Earth tech, attempted revolt?"  
  
"No bullets," Ronon said, gesturing to the building walls. "McKay didn't pick up any Ancestor technology."  
  
"Guys," McKay said suddenly. His voice was the McKay mixture of horrified and fascinated. He might not go to movie night or play chess anymore, but Pegasus-style doom could still get a reaction. Ronon and Sheppard walked over to him, gazing around the destroyed settlement.  
  
McKay was standing in front of a large wood post. There were characters carved crudely into the wood, as if by an unskilled and hasty hand.  
  
"Wraith," Sheppard said, recognizing the alphabet.  
  
"It says, 'They tried to kill me. Leave them alone.'" McKay's voice changed, horror giving way to buoyancy.  
  
"You know what this means, right?"   
  
"McKay," Sheppard drawled, not unsympathetically, anticipating what that sudden buoyancy could mean.  
  
"It's fresh," McKay said. "And how many people in Pegasus know Wraith? A Wraith Worshipper wouldn't write something like this– It's got to be Zelenka! We know they make people Runners for some reason or another–"   
  
"McKay," Sheppard said again.  
  
"Look, I'm not crazy! Maybe he has that protein the Hoffans were on about, or did something to impress them, or maybe the Wraith was just bored, I don't know, but look at this! The only people we've met who study Wraith language are the Genii and no Genii would write this–"  
  
"McKay!"  
  
" _John,_ " McKay said, imploring and ecstatic. "He could still be alive."  
  
"Rodney, I want Zelenka to be alive as much as the next guy, though maybe not as much as you and Ronon. But you've gotta know that if Zelenka was made a Runner he'd just go to M7G-677. He's never shown."  
  
"Maybe he forgot the address, he only went once."  
  
"There hasn't been a new beacon on the Runner frequency."  
  
"Maybe they changed it, or maybe the frequencies are Hive-specific. How should I know? But look at this."  
  
"I am," Sheppard said. "I know there are probably Runners out there we don't know about, but just because one of 'em knows Wraith doesn't mean it has to be Genii or Zelenka. We didn't know about the Genii learning Wraith until we stumbled upon their secret bunker. We don't know how many other planets have secret plots against the Wraith or know Wraith.  
  
"And..." Sheppard's voice trailed off. There was no delicate way to say this. "Zelenka wasn't on a team. He went off-world at all, what, a handful of times a year, not counting friendly planets?"  
  
"So?" McKay said, his jaw jutting stubbornly.  
  
"So, if Zelenka couldn't get to Kid World for some reason and the Wraith made him a Runner..."  
  
"He would've contacted us," Ronon said.  
  
"Yeah, that," Sheppard said, latching onto the idea with relief.  
  
"That wasn't what you were going to say," McKay said. "And it isn't like Zelenka could just stroll onto any friendly planet and say 'hi,' not without this happening!" McKay gestured to the destroyed village.  
  
"If it's true, it doesn't matter," Ronon stated. "We couldn't find him. He'd be on his own."  
  
"But we could–"   
  
"We could what, McKay?" Sheppard snapped, hating himself for having to say it. "We've got no proof. This is– This is hard enough on you without, without–"   
  
"Without false hope," McKay said accusingly. "You don't think Zelenka could make it as a Runner, that even if he did leave this message he'd be dead by now anyway."  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"What do you think?" McKay demanded of Ronon.  
  
"Doesn't matter," Ronon said bluntly. "We couldn't know either way till he contacted us."  
  
"But it's unlikely," Sheppard prompted.  
  
"Didn't say that." Ronon shrugged. "Radek can be vicious. That'd help."  
  
"Ha!" McKay said. "You said 'can be' not 'could be.' You think it's possible. Even _probable_."  
  
"Kiersan fever," Ronon said, looking at Sheppard. "He beat up your Marines pretty good and avoided 'em."  
  
Sheppard's brow furrowed in thought, his mouth an unhappy line. He hated the idea of giving up on anyone out of principle, and he really hated the idea that he'd personally given up on Zelenka too soon. But there was also the fact the Kiersan fever had been pretty much an isolated incident. The rest of the time Sheppard had known Zelenka the man had been even more skittish than McKay, adamantly refusing a spot on a Gate Team whenever it was offered. They'd never run into major trouble on the few times Zelenka had substituted for a laid-up McKay, so Sheppard really had no idea how the man would react to guns-in-your-face kind of trouble as opposed to think-up-a-way-to-save-the-city kind of trouble.  
  
If they needed a pinch-hitter for McKay, yeah, Zelenka had been your man. But surviving alone as a Runner with no technology... not even McKay could manage that. And even at his best Zelenka had been no Rodney McKay. There was a reason McKay had consistently been Sheppard's pick for the team brain.  
  
"I'll have Chuck scan the back sensor logs for anything that could be an attempt at contact," Sheppard at last conceded. "But you gotta realize, McKay, that we have no idea how the Wraith pick Runners but from the ones we've seen we know they pick for strength. Zelenka didn't have a soldiers' build and he didn't have even your field experience. No enzyme. He wasn't Ford."  
  
"Yeah, sure, fine," McKay said, entirely too quickly and happily.  
  
Sheppard sighed, regretting his concession even as he understood the necessity. When the logs didn't turn up anything, McKay was going to be even worse than before.


	20. Day Fifty-four, Unknown Planet

Radek waited, poised in a tree. His glaive was at the base of the tree, his stunner in his hand. This Wraith was good. He'd avoided all of Zelenka's traps, even without drones to act as cannon fodder. He was now creeping slowly through the woods, scanning the ground and trees as he went. Radek shifted, putting more of the tree trunk between himself and the Wraith. It meant sacrificing visibility, but he could hear the Wraith's footsteps.

_I belong,_ Radek repeated to himself, weaving his energy into his surroundings. He could feel the Wraith's gaze slide right over his tree. Radek tensed, preparing to abandon his hiding place to fire.

A sudden, distinctive cry startled Radek: Lachesis.

Radek scrambled around the tree trunk, instantly afraid the Wraith had stumbled onto the bird and was killing it for joy or out of knowledge of his poison.

Radek sighed, leaning closer against the tree in relief as the Wraith spasmed and twitched on the ground below. Lachesis's chicken-flutter had gained him enough air to attack the Wraith's face, six scratches running along brow and cheekbone. Lachesis had been aiming for the eyes.

Now he was feeding.

Radek climbed down from his tree.

"Good bird," he commented, leaving the raptor to his plunder.


	21. Day Fifty-five, Atlantis Base

Dr. Chen wanted him to write an amends to Zelenka. He'd been on McKay about it for weeks, all in his subtle and patient way. He insisted that writing all the unsaid apologies and feelings down helped the grieving process, even knowing the addressee would never read them.  
  
McKay had resisted for obvious reasons.   
  
Now he wrote a different kind of letter, an email to an account that didn't exist anymore.  
  
 _Radek,  
  
You're my best friend and my right hand and I miss you more than I'd miss coffee, if that's even believable. I know I never said it. I never would have admitted it even under torture.   
  
I love you.  
  
If you're alive, out there, somewhere, please come back to me.  
  
Rodney_  
  
He thought a moment and then added a post script.  
  
 _Ronon misses you, too._


	22. Day Fifty-seven, Unknown Planet

Radek had to admit at this point that bathing was more of a psychological comfort than an actual means to cleanliness. Sand worked well for abrading bits of food, but as far as dirt or body oil on a body... it was far from ideal. Soap had surpassed coffee on his list of wants.

Despite his best efforts at finger-combing, his hair was more a hank than anything else. He could see why Ronon had opted for dreadlocks. His attempts to keep his hair and beard trimmed with a knife had succeeded in keeping everything short, but that was about it.

He looked like a deranged vagrant.

Still, not quite clean was better than completely un-groomed. So he bathed whenever he found a river or lake deep enough that wasn't also bone-chillingly cold.

On this planet he'd smelled the sulfur as soon as he'd crossed the event horizon. Radek had left snares and false trails around the Gate, then followed the scent and humidity to a hot spring, an honest-to-God hot spring bubbling deliciously hot water out of the planet's crust. There hadn't been any boardwalks or changing huts, no sign of habitation at all, so he'd gleefully stripped, climbed down the rock tumble leading to the spring, and waded inside.

The air reeked, but so did he, and it was _hot_.

Radek sat in the water, the rock rough against his buttocks. The muscles in his back ached from near-constant tension and hard use. The heat of the water soaked into him, slowly loosening the muscles. It was almost like the relaxation of a hot shower after a crisis. Radek's eyes burned from the sharp spike of homesickness the thought provoked.

Radek closed his eyes and plunged his head into the water. He surfaced almost immediately, using his fingers to work the hot water into his hair, trying to clean what he could.

His body had changed even since the last time he'd bathed, more middle-age weight erased by short rations and a lack of transporters. If he stayed a Runner, Radek knew, his body would soon resemble Lorne's more than McKay's. He'd never been a vain man before and the thought brought him no joy now. It was just another reminder of what he'd lost.

It was also a reminder of the changes being a Runner had wrought in Ronon, turning a civilized Specialist who had worked for the highest levels of his government into a man many mistook for a caveman. If he was a Runner long enough, Radek might return home only to find he could not return to being the man he was before.

It wasn't a pleasant thought. He didn't even know how close to that point he was already.

He was certainly lonely. Having his bird helped, but it wasn't the same as the constant bustle of people, or even another human being. Lachesis couldn't respond, give him ideas, or even provide the cadence of complaining chatter. He'd never thought he'd miss Rodney's constant noise, but he did.

The crunch of sticks and leaves startled Radek. He tensed, then pressed himself against the rock formation surrounding the pool. He almost-slithered up the rock as the footsteps approached. He pulled his glaive down slowly, preparing to swing up and over onto the ground.

When the footsteps halted, he jumped with a yell that would startle even a Wraith. But instead of Wraith hisses, he heard human screams.

A woman with a pair of children were approaching the pool, not a Wraith. Their clothes looked formal, solemn. No wonder there had been no joyful chatter as they approached, and he had been too lost in thought to hear their footsteps. Foolish. The spring was most likely a smelly annoyance along a road to some other ceremonial destination – perhaps even Ancent ruins.

"Go on!" Radek shouted, his heart pounding with a different sort of panic. He knew Wraith destroyed any city or village that a Runner made contact with, but not the entire planet. If the village was far enough away from the spring, it was entirely possible that they would be spared, particularly if none of the villagers' minds contained memories of a Runner. "Get out of here, go!"

The woman and children were already running back the way they had come. Radek scrambled for his clothes and gear, whistling for Lachesis as he jerked dirty clothes over his wet body.

_Foolish, to assume you were safe, not to check for paths, foolish and stupid!_

Radek swung his pack on and snatched up Lachesis. He didn't know how far away the village was nor whether the woman would summon the village's version of a militia to secure the spring, so he ran to the Gate. He dialed the next planet on his list, heart still pounding from thoughts of what might happen to that woman, her children, and her village.

He didn't even stop to disassemble his traps. He'd been on the planet too long already.


	23. Day Sixty-four, Unknown Planet

Radek had given up on the idea of turning his receiver into a jammer. With the toolkit he'd been able to interrupt the signal from his locater beacon for short bursts, even a stretch of short bursts, but not a sustained jam. Nothing that would make it safe for him to be anywhere habited.  
  
At most he'd made it look like his beacon was malfunctioning periodically.  
  
However, the intermittent jamming had given him an idea. It was ironic that once he'd figured out how to jam the locater signal it was easier to program a series of interruptions (using his second receiver for parts and interface) than it was to stretch out one interruption for any length of time.  
  
The only problem was that his plan was entirely dependent on Chuck.   
  
Radek had opted for a long message in hopes of convincing the Wraith the intermittent jamming was a "flutter" in his beacon: a malfunction, not a message. He could not afford for the Atlantis Gateroom technician to think the same thing. Technician Banks was good – very good, actually – but she didn't have Chuck's experience with Pegasus. She didn't have Chuck's honed instinct for what could be dismissed as insignificant versus what could not, and for what needed, say, Sheppard's attention versus McKay's.   
  
Radek did not know Atlantis's duty roster anymore. A "malfunctioning" beacon would only serve to intensify Wraith attention. If Chuck was on leave, in the city or away from it... If Chuck was gone and Banks made the wrong decision, Radek would certainly be caught. It was a complete gamble whether or not the Wraith would realize he was Lantean or conclude he was an especially clever Pegasi, whether they would put a new beacon in his back and release him or try to convince him to work for them.  
  
Radek drew his knees up to his chest. Lachesis was roosting against the small of his back, prioritizing the warmth of Radek's body over the safety of a branch. The day had long since given way to night. The embers of his fire glowed with steady warmth. Still, he could not sleep. He kept expecting to hear the sound of the Wraith dart flying overhead to take him back to the Hive.  
  
 _It will work. Chuck will be there._  
  
Radek would go home. He would.  
  
And if he did not...  
  
Radek clamped down on the thought immediately as well as the wrenching grief it provoked. He closed his eyes, breathing steadily and shallowly as he had before countless disasters when the terror of the situation had warred against his conscious knowledge that rest would make his work more effective.  
  
It worked now as it had then.  
  
Radek dropped into sleep only to be woken what felt like minutes later. There was a dark shape above him, approaching his campsite. The silhouette of long hair and a Wraith coat was unmistakable in the faint lingering glow.  
  
Radek instantly grabbed his glaive. He rolled more than stood, relying on the polearm's length to make the blow connect. Like a mythical vampire, the Wraith could recover from almost anything but fire and a solid object through the heart. Even the most unskilled human could kill a Wraith with a heart strike.  
  
Getting close enough for a heart strike, well, that was another matter.  
  
But this Wraith was unprepared for his Runner to awaken – new, most likely, for he had come alone – and Radek's blade slid between his ribs. The Wraith made a wet, choking grunt before falling.  
  
It wasn't a Wraith. As soon as the body fell, the faint light illuminated pale skin and distinctly dark hair.  
  
Radek pulled his glaive free. Even in the dull light it was obvious the blood was red instead of black.  
  
 _Ježišmarija._ Radek's stomach turned into knots even as he scrambled over to he body. Radek rolled it onto its back and dragged it closer to the light. The Wraith clothes were still there, unadorned, slowly being covered with blood seeping from the chest wound. There was no pulse. Radek lifted the head, plunging his fingers down the collar to feel for an insertion scar. There was none. A Wraith Worshipper.  
  
It could have just as easily been a new Runner or an innocent man in a long coat.  
  
 _Ježišmarija, ježišmarija._ Radek put a hand over his mouth to stem the urge to throw up before realizing it was still covered in blood. The iron/copper tang assaulted his nose. Radek gagged.  
  
He'd never killed a man before.   
  
Radek clenched his fists, pressing them to his stomach and bowing over them. He'd killed someone. A Wraith Worshipper, yes, but still a human being. Still one of "us." Not a monster bent on making him and every other human being in existence a meal or sport or breeding stock, just a man who had made a deal with the devil to save his own skin. Pathetic and reprehensible, yes, both of those things, but still not the same as thinking of humans as livestock to be harvested. Still human, still with some hope of rapport. Respect. Redemption.  
  
But not anymore.  
  
He'd killed a man and he could never take that back.  
  
Radek had been so worried about his time as a Runner changing him beyond repair, and now it had. He could never be the same Radek Zelenka he'd been before. Not with this blood on his hands.  
  
Literally.  
  
Radek wiped his hands furiously on the long Wraith coat, then doused his last scraps of cloth in water to scrub away the rest. He scrubbed furiously at his beard, his mouth, as well. He piled more wood on the fire and then threw the scraps in. The embers made the cloth hiss, then catch fire, the faint smell of burning blood in the smoke.  
  
He'd always known that there had been the possibility of Wraith Worshippers on the hives they'd destroyed, but he'd also known there had been no way to save them. They'd been collateral damage of self defense, statistics killed at a distance with regret.  
  
This was different. Instinctive, violent, and personal. All he'd had to do was not plunge his weapon into the Wraith-like shadow standing over him, to take a moment to double-check before striking.  
It could have been a complete innocent.  
  
It – he – had still been a human. Any hope of breaking away from the Wraith was gone for the man now. Radek didn't even know what he wanted – the man could have been Todd's, a rescue as a good-faith deposit against future aid from the herd of wild humans who had thrown the Wraith into such disarray. Radek didn't know. He couldn't know.  
  
The Wraith Worshipper's eyes were open and glassy. Accusing.  
  
He was a murderer. What murderer deserved rescue? What was the point of going home anymore, how could he live with himself like this? How did any of the soldiers? He knew boot camp helped dull the conscience towards killing, but what amount of training could make this all right?   
  
Radek rocked, despairing.  
  
Lachesis had hop-flapped away when Radek had rolled, startled and with no sight of prey. Now he approached, crooning worriedly.  
  
"It's fine," Radek snapped at the bird, lying even though Lachesis couldn't be comforted with words.   
  
His harsh tone of voice only produced more fretful croons. Lachesis picked at his coat, trying to preen Radek's non-existent feathers.  
  
Radek pressed his hands to his mouth again. He was still Running. Whoever sent the Wraith Worshipper would doubtlessly come looking for him. If he was captured by the Wraith, they would kill Lachesis without a second thought. He'd already cost the bird his family and (at least until the feathers grew in) flight. Radek could not also cost him his life.  
  
If those Wraith also realized he was Lantean, even just from his distinctly non-Pegasi accent, Radek had no illusions that he would be able to resist their mind powers for long even if he did somehow manage to hold out against torture. He knew too much about Atlantis to take that risk.  
  
He had been a thief for his family. He'd helped kill for Atlantis. Now he had killed a man with his own hands, but he was still keeping Atlantis's secrets and keeping Lachesis alive. He had an _obligation_.  
  
"It'll be fine," Radek whispered thickly. He held out his gauntlet-covered hand. Lachesis climbed on, still crooning. Radek stroked the proud bird's breast, the feathers soft against his skin, and slowly Lachesis's fretting ceased.


	24. Day Sixty-five, Atlantis Base

Chuck kept his coffee cup on the ledge overlooking his console instead of by the keyboard, and so did everyone else on his watch. The crew might roll their eyes or make juvenile jokes behind his back, but that was fine with Chuck Campbell.  
  
Unlike the rest of the Ops staff, Chuck had been trained by Walter Harriman himself. There was a reason teams preferred human ops staff to automated machines. Machines couldn't adapt on the fly. People could. A Gate team can usually only survive an error the first time, but they depend on the ops tech to make sure that error doesn't happen again.  
  
Chuck had his teams' backs always. He didn't let messages that didn't make sense given the circumstances pass unchallenged (lesson learned from Michael). If the voice on the radio didn't match the IDC on the screen, he didn't let them through no matter how desperate the voice on the other end sounded (lesson learned from the Genii). It was what made him the best at his job.  
  
Atlantis's deep space sensors automatically scanned the subspace background noise for patterns, anything that could be repeating distress call or hail in an unfamiliar language. The nature of deep space chatter being what it was, there was always twenty to thirty patterns logged that were actually nothing more than a particularly regular quasar or an abandoned Wraith life pod's comm on the fritz.  
  
This signal looked like a similar waste of time. It wasn't on any known communications or beacon frequency. There was no voice, no sound, no data, just a steady pulse of slightly varying duration. The computer had monitored it for forty-eight hours before creating the alert. The signal was a repeating pattern, but not one that Chuck or the Atlantis computer recognized. By protocol, he should jot down a note about it on the end of the log and set the Atlantis sensors to check for any changes in the next few days.  
  
The signal looked familiar. Chuck couldn't remember seeing that exact pattern before, but it the blip-waves of sensor data still looked... familiar.  
  
Chuck drummed his fingers on the edge of the console, then tapped his ear-piece.  
  
"Colonel Sheppard," Chuck said.  
  
"Sheppard," came the immediate reply.  
  
"Could you come to the Gateroom? There's something you might want to see."  
  
"On my way."  
  
Chuck watched the blip-wave scroll across the sensor log while he waited for the Colonel. Sheppard arrived with McKay in tow. Chuck suppressed a grimace. McKay had been insufferable since Zelenka had died. While his mood had perked up in the last few days, he was still even more of crab-ass than normal. Chuck had lost his share of friends in Pegasus – anyone who worked here long enough had – so empathized, he really did. But he also knew there was a point where you had to stop letting the grief run your life and ruin everyone else's.  
  
"What's up, Chuck?" Sheppard said, loping up to the technician's station.  
  
"The sensors picked up a pattern in subspace," Chuck said, bringing the information on his screen up on the larger display screen. "I wouldn't call it a signal, but it looked familiar somehow."  
  
"It's just a blip," McKay said. "No voice, no anything. Malfunctioning beacon?"  
  
"It's not on the Runner beacon or Todd's beacon frequency," Chuck reported.  
  
"Bring it up on the map," Sheppard commanded. Chuck typed a few strings of commands and the display screen shifted from the sensor data to a star chart.  
  
"M9G-363," Chuck stated. The dot on the map pulsed in time with the appearance of the blip in subspace. "According to our logs, it's uninhabited."  
  
"You said it looked familiar?" Sheppard stated, shifting from curiously laconic to fully alert in a nanosecond. "That's Morse code. Tablet!" McKay handed his over. Sheppard watched the dots and dashes – which were obvious now that Chuck could see a flashing light instead of intermittent sensor data – writing the letters down as he saw them. Every ops technician on the Atlantis Expedition and all military personnel in the SGC knew Morse code: as a versatile means to communicate with other Terrans without aliens recognizing what was going on or being able to crack the message, Morse code was unparalleled.  
  
Chuck reached the conclusion at the same time as Sheppard.  
  
"I'll be damned," Sheppard said, awed. He turned the tablet around for McKay to see.  
  
It read:  
  
ENEIUS NOW RODNEY WHO IS THE GENEI


	25. Day Sixty-five, M9G-363

It was night on the other side of the Gate. Judging by the intense darkness, either neither of the planet's moons had risen yet or else one or both of them was in the new phase.  
  
"He's about a mile that way," McKay said excitedly, pointing. His body was illuminated by the glow of the event horizon.   
  
Sheppard switched on his mounted flashlight. McKay and Caughey followed suit.   
  
"Be careful," Ronon cautioned, his voice deep and tight with focus. "Radek's gotta have something planned for the Wraith. In this dark it'll be hard to spot, and so will we." Ronon drew his weapon.  
  
Sheppard and Caughey alternated sweeping their lights to the side and illuminating Ronon's way. McKay wished Teyla could be there – he trusted her over Caughey any day – but she was still on maternity leave.  
  
Ronon led the group through the forest. When they reached a small path leading in the direction of Zelenka's signal, Ronon started to walk past it.  
  
"His signal's that way," McKay said, stopping and pointing with his light down the path.  
  
"That path's going to be littered with traps," Ronon stated. "This way."  
  
"But–"  
  
"Come on, McKay," Sheppard stated, taking a step to follow Ronon.  
  
"What kind of traps is he going to make?" McKay stepped around Sheppard to argue with Ronon. "It's not like the Wraith are going to hand him a bunch of stunners and a motion sensor–"  
  
The ground suddenly gave way. McKay's stomach shot up into his throat, immediately followed by a wrenching pain in his wrist.   
  
Ronon hauled McKay up and placed him on the ground. Sheppard and Caughey pointed their lights down into the deep pit McKay had nearly fallen into. It was deep with uneven, hand-dug walls. The sharp wood spikes at the bottom were also obviously hand-made, but no less deadly for it.  
  
"Holy crap," McKay breathed.  
  
"Yeah," Sheppard agreed, backing away from the pit, his voice a more nasal version of McKay's own shock. "Lead on, Chewie."  
  
Ronon led them through the woods, often dropping down on one knee to examine the ground more closely. Outside the flashlights' beams, there was nothing but impenetrable dark. McKay checked the life-signs detector often. It could locate a subspace signal at any range, but actual life signs... the range was far more limited.  
  
"Wait, wait!" McKay ordered as the signal began to move. "Zelenka's moving, he's heading back to the Gate."  
  
"Are you sure?" Ronon said, his voice still tight with focus.  
  
"Well, he's heading in that direction."  
  
"McLane," Sheppard said into his radio, hailing the more senior of the two Marines left back at the Gate. "Any Wraith activity?"  
  
"No sir," McLane said promptly. "Quiet as a church mouse."  
  
"Wraith coulda already been here," Ronon said. "This way."  
  
Ronon led them, not back the way they came, but at a widely different angle than they'd been following before.  
  
"Shouldn't we hurry?" McKay asked as Ronon set a pace not much faster than the one they'd had before.  
  
"No," Ronon stated.  
  
"And why not?"  
  
"Because with the tough ones the Wraith don't always hunt alone. Zelenka'd know that."  
  
McKay hated that thought not only because it meant the woods could be literally crawling with Wraith, but also because the idea of Zelenka having faced multiple Wraith, alone, armed with nothing but wooden stakes and luck filled him with a very different fear than self-preservation. It was the John's Suicide Plan fear.  
  
He'd never really had to be afraid for Zelenka before. He'd never had to be afraid _of_ Zelenka before.  
  
The minutes crawled by like hours until finally the life-signs detector showed life signs in range.  
  
"Oh God," McKay said. There were six of them, dead ahead, and the forest was too dark for them to even consider a dead run. God knew how many death pits Zelenka had made.  
  
Ronon growled and held out his hand for the detector. He took one look at it and gave it back to McKay.  
  
"Come on. Stay close to the trees."  
  
They almost-jogged toward the life signs, never more than a foot from the trunks, cutting through underbrush heedless of noise.   
  
The first sound to break the night chatter was that of running water, followed by a rocky crash. Four of the life signs blinked out, followed shortly by the fifth. The sixth held steady. He hoped it was Radek, not one surviving Wraith.  
  
"Radek!" Ronon bellowed, a cry taken up immediately by Sheppard. McKay and Caughey followed suit.  
  
"Zelenka" and "Radek" sounded through the forest until at last they cleared the woods. The river in front of them was wide, the flashlights couldn't illuminate the other bank. There was a tumble of rock to the left of the group, the occasional Wraith arm or leg visible in the rubble.   
  
"Ronon?"  
  
The voice, the accent, was unmistakable. McKay turned, bringing his light up. He didn't recognize the man standing before him in Terran glasses and Pegasus clothes with a long bladed staff in one hand, with matted hair and a thick, clumsily-trimmed beard. McKay could smell the unwashed body odor from where he stood.  
  
He'd never smelled anything so sweet.  
  
"I thought it was a trick, making me hear things–" Radek said, his voice choked. He dropped his glaive, wrapping both arms around Ronon in a hug that was immediately returned with equal force. Radek's face pressed into the juncture of Ronon's neck and shoulder, his shoulders shaking with near-sobs of relief.  
  
"We got you," Ronon said, neither letting go of Zelenka nor straightening from his slightly bent position. "We got you."  
  
McKay watched, relieved, joyful, and speechless with jealousy.


	26. Day Sixty-seven, Atlantis Base

The city felt alien. Radek had imagined it would be wonderful to be home, a joy like returning to Atlantis after the Ancients had sent them away.

It wasn't. It was a relief, yes, to be safe and for the transmitter to have been removed from his flesh. But it was also surreal, like this really wasn't over. Any moment Radek would wake up in the wilderness with a Wraith standing over him. Being back was suffocating, too, for reasons he couldn't even begin to articulate.

The biologists had taken Lachesis for quarantine and study with the promise that as soon as he was able to fly they'd take him back to his original planet. A military installation was no place for a bird, the pet of a busy Chief Engineer no kind of life for him. Radek knew this. But he still wanted his bird.

He hadn't let them take his glaive. It was propped up against the wall between his bed and the small stand containing an Expedition duty uniform his size. Radek wondered if the uniform would feel alien as well when he put it on, instead of like a second skin.

"You've been through a lot," Dr. Chen had said when he'd visited. "Don't expect to just snap back into your old self in a day."

Dr. Keller had performed the actual removal in a jumper on M7G-677. Radek had been unconscious for it and for the return to Atlantis. They'd scrubbed him from head to toe during that time. Keller had arranged for a city barber to drop by the infirmary to crop Radek's hair. The man had had to crop it close to remove all the mats, shorter than Radek had worn in years. It would grow out quickly, he knew from experience. Radek had taken scissors and a razor to his beard.

He looked almost like his old self. He even had new glasses, courtesy of the Lens Express in Colorado Springs and sent through the Midway Station. Radek's possessions still in Atlantis from the redistribution were being dropped by his new quarters. The SGC and IOA offices were taking care of reversing his death certificate and telling his family it was all a mistake. They'd given him two weeks off to go see them.

On the outside, everything was returning to normal.

Inside he felt anything but. Part of him wanted to leave the city and just keep running. It somehow seemed easier than the endless stream of visitors come to welcome the modern-day Lazarus, back from the dead and here to save them from the dread McKay.

Radek heard Ronon enter the infirmary before he saw him. Ronon's tread was softer than anyone's even when he wasn't trying to move quietly. The constant awareness of footsteps was another change, one Radek hadn't even realized had happened. Unlike killing a man.

"Hey," Ronon said. He'd been the first person Radek had seen the night of his rescue. It was irrational to feel like Ronon had brought him home when Sheppard, Rodney, and Caughey had been there as well, but there it was.

Or maybe it was because Ronon was the only one in the city who really understood. Radek knew intellectually that a nine and a half weeks in no way compared to seven years. Looking into Ronon's hazel eyes, though, it didn't seem to matter.

"Hey," Radek replied.

"That polearm," Ronon said, gesturing to Radek's weapon. "It's Satedan."

"Oh." Radek's feelings were immediate and conflicting: on the one hand, the conviction that no one would separate him from the weapon that had kept him alive so well, and on the other hand, shame at having desecrated a Satedan shrine to the dead and the knowledge that Ronon deserved a remaining piece of Sateda far more than he.

"You should," Radek began, even though he didn't even half mean it, reaching for the weapon.

"No." Ronon stopped Radek with a hand on his wrist. "It's a scientist's weapon. You keep it." Ronon half-smiled, his eyes alight with pride and his own pesky brand of humor. "'Sides, all the Wraith you killed you'd qualify for Satedan citizenship."

Radek smiled back, dropping his hand. The expression felt wan. If the way Ronon's smile faded, it looked that way, too.

"It gets better," Ronon said. "But not the same."

"I killed a Wraith Worshiper."

"Happens. Rival Hives try to convert Runners all the time, get 'em working for the other side."

"He could have been turned from the Wraith. Or he could have been Todd's."

"No, he couldn't. The Wraith change their worshipers inside. A new Wraith Worshiper's first task is to kill a family member or friend if the Wraith can find 'em, a member of their own village if they can't. If he was that Wraith's, you would have just been jumping out of the soup pot and into the cook fire."

"A good faith rescue would go a long way towards convincing Sheppard to help again," Radek countered.

"Wraith's a Wraith," Ronon said with a shrug. "There is no good faith. Convincing Sheppard's not as good as having someone who can build Asgard and Ancient tech. Wraith Worshipers don't care about mercy, honor, or even each other when it comes down to it. They've got coming what they get. You gotta think of it like that."

It shouldn't make him feel better, but it did. Some.

Ronon placed his hand on Radek's wrist.

"You care about people. It's good in a scientist. Not in fighting."

"I killed nineteen Wraith."

"I know."

"They were trying to kill me."

"I know."

Radek pulled his hand away from Ronon to press his fist to his mouth. He looked away, not willing to let Ronon see how full his eyes were. Radek took a deep breath, pushing the sudden urge to cry back.

"Post-traumatic mood swings," Radek said.

"Warrior's heart," Ronon said. His voice was reverent, a hint of the thoughtful Specialist he'd once been. That glimpse was always there when he discussed Satedan beliefs, or greeted a doctor for the first time. "On Sateda it was said it happened to those who had too much courage. It drove them to do more than their soul could bear, to keep living when the soul should have passed on to its next life."

Ronon paused, placing his hand lightly and deliberately over where the dermal regenerator had closed the incision without a hint of scarring.

"The soul heals."


	27. Day Ninety-five, Atlantis Base

During the days preceding his trip to Earth, Weunche had told Radek about Rodney's reaction to Radek's death, as had several other members of the Sciences and a few of the soldiers. Radek hadn't had time then to ponder the ramifications: there had been debriefings, medical examinations, good-will visitors, preparations for going back to Earth, and the internal chaos of trying to get used to being home again. He'd spent his Earthward quarantine mentally preparing for seeing his family, a prospect equally joyful and fearful.  
  
The visit itself had been just as Radek had predicted. The USAF had told his family that Radek had been captured by the enemy and held prisoner only to be rescued on an unrelated raid. It was a plausible story. Unfortunately, it was one that had left his family imagining World War II style horrors. The changes in Radek's build and demeanor had only served to confirm their fears, no matter how Radek insisted nothing of the kind had happened. The half-truth Radek told them, that the enemy guards had repeatedly released him only to recapture him for sport, had been received as a bald-faced lie told for their comfort. Eliska's joy at his return and nervous fussing had been coupled with his mother's. Both had been combined with Mirek's fury, fussing, and insistence that Radek didn't dare return.  
  
At the time, Radek had wanted nothing more. He still didn't. Atlantis was mildly claustrophobic compared to the cloying stranglehold of Earth. Earth had too many people, too much noise, too much plodding sameness, too much hysteria over nothing. Wraith, Replicators, Michael: that was something. Bickering over oil and God, no, not so much. Worse still was the trapped feeling. Even though Radek had rarely used the Gate on Atlantis, it had always been there. Being in Europe, completely cut off from Cheyenne Mountain, there was no way out.  
  
Five times his family had awakened him to say he'd been screaming in his sleep, being chased by Hunters in his dreams through the streets of Prague.  
  
Radek loved his family, but hailing the cab to take him to his flight back to Colorado Springs had felt like a miraculous escape.  
  
They just didn't understand.  
  
He'd returned to Atlantis to find his old job waiting for him with a new title. Weunche had had no interest in serving as McKay's right hand and had stepped down as soon as Radek had been restored to active duty. Radek had, in turn, returned her to being one of his Assistant Engineers. He'd praised Coleman for her good work, given her a substantial bonus, and promised her that the next Assistant Engineer slot that opened would be hers. Coleman had been so glad to have Zelenka back to buffer McKay she hadn't been upset at all, which Radek took as an indication of the level of suffering Rodney's grief had inflicted on the Sciences.  
  
However, for as much as Rodney had grieved for Radek's death, he apparently had no interest in Radek alive. During the two weeks after Radek's return to active duty, Rodney had only talked to Radek to convey what work-related information couldn't be sent in an email. Any offers to have lunch together were turned down, any conversations that weren't about work were terminated.  
  
Rodney was avoiding Radek more than ever before and, in a truly bitter irony, it hurt less than it ever had. The Wraith had cured his broken heart. After surviving two months alone and Running, Rodney's lack of reciprocation didn't seem as life-altering painful. It was just something he could accept and be all right in spite of, even be content with.  
  
But Rodney's behavior wasn't normal. Carter had been predictably surprised and impressed that Radek had managed to survive being a Runner, but Rodney's behavior didn't seem like jealousy over Carter. Competitive jealousy manifested itself in snipe and jabs, whining and rages. Not this continual insistence on distance.  
  
The last time he'd acted this way was when Cadman had been harassing him.  
  
That lent itself to the possibility Rodney was embarrassed, even humiliated. And if that was the case, Radek had a pretty good idea what Rodney would feel the need to be embarrassed about.  
  
Radek had tried to arrange for the pair of them to be alone for three days only to have Rodney weasel out somehow, sometimes with Sheppard's help. At last Radek was left with no other option but to go to Rodney's quarters in the middle of the night and rang the doorchime.  
  
"What?" Rodney demanded as soon as the door opened. He was in a blue bathrobe and a faded tee. Even with his short haircut he managed to have a good case of bed-head.  
  
"You were avoiding me," Radek stated, deliberately keeping his voice calm and clear. The last thing he needed was for Rodney to escalate. Nor did he allow his uncertainty in his conclusion to show: when dealing with Rodney, that was death. "Obviously, the fact you grieved for me so much is making you uncomfortable. You do not like having your heart on your sleeve, this I know, and you do not like letting others know you esteem them. This I also know. But there is familiarity between us, this is obvious to all, and I know you would grieve similarly for Sheppard if he fell. There is no need for this embarrassed avoiding. It is inefficient."  
  
Rodney stood stock still, his sleep-addled brain processing Radek's carefully-rehearsed monologue.  
  
"What are you, nuts?" Rodney asked incredulously. "I'm not embarrassed, what ever gave you the inane idea– I love you, you idiot. And now that I finally realize it, you're already with Ronon!" Rodney's voice changed to mutter, "story of my life," before continuing on his tirade. "So inefficient or not, no, I'm not really interested in paling around while you make googley eyes or whatever it is you do. I've got better things to do with my time." Rodney sniffed in a calculated show of disdain. Clearly Radek had not been the only one rehearsing a response.  
  
Radek stared.  
  
It felt like his heart was erupting with joy, seeping through his body to melt the shock and calm acceptance away. This was real, not a dream, Rodney said he loved him (though, typically, with an insult to his intelligence at the end). It was–  
  
It was incredible. Just when he'd given up– He'd just given up for good, and now he had his declaration.  
  
_I love you, you idiot._  
  
Sweeter words he'd never heard.  
  
Radek lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Rodney's shoulders even though McKay backed away. He pressed his mouth to Rodney's, the door swishing closed behind them. Rodney didn't respond to the kiss, his mouth motionless and partially opened in numb surprise. He tasted like morning breath. Radek didn't mind, too giddy on the high.  
  
"I am not with Ronon," Radek said joyously when he pulled away. "I have never been with Ronon. You, always, as long as I have been here."  
  
"Really?" McKay asked, his confusing changing into a broad grin.  
  
"Really," Radek confirmed.  
  
"You're sure? I mean, you're all right with the, uh, the military and their ideas– prejudices? Not being able to tell anyone?"  
  
"I have always known who I prefer. Quietly, yes, for those reasons, but I am more clever than they, and they will not notice if you are as careful as I." Radek had a plan for this, rehearsed over and over in his mind as a part of his fantasies. Let it never be said love robbed him of all good sense (no matter how Ronon insisted the opposite was true).  
  
Rodney grinned again, kissing Radek as passionately as Radek had kissed him though with a hesitation Radek did not feel. Radek matched Rodney with equal fervor, offering nothing less in the kiss than his open heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This show didn't jump the shark so much as pole-vault the thing. The last season happened. In this continuity, McKay hadn't actually worked through his internalized homophobia, panicked, and backed out of his relationship with Radek in favor of the more socially-acceptable Keller. Radek was a survivor, as ever, and handled the matter with grace.


End file.
